Imperium Ascendant
by Jayfiction19
Summary: We all know the tale, The Emperor of Mankind creates Twenty Primarchs to conquer the Galaxy. Nine Fall to Chaos's taint and Let the Galaxy Burn. What if this was not the case? What if the Ruinous Powers never got their claws into the Emperors Sons? What if the Imperium Ascended instead of falling into darkness and suffering? This is the story of that possibility
1. Chapter 1: Paradox Undone

We all know the tale, The Emperor of Mankind creates Twenty Primarchs to lead his Legions to conquer the Galaxy. Nine Fall to Chaos's taint and Let the Galaxy Burn. What if this was not the case? What if the Ruinous Powers never got their claws into the Emperors Sons? What if the Imperium Ascended instead of falling into darkness and suffering? This is the story of that possibility

Chapter One: Paradox Undone

Date: 750.M30

Location: A Hidden Vault Within Luna.

Luna was where mankind first touched the Cosmos. The first mark they left when they ascended from their cradle to explore the stars. It was only fitting it would be where mankind's ascension started. In shadows of the Old Night, the newly crowned Emperor of Mankind started a impossible project within Luna. Using his own genius and the resources of newly conquered Terra and Luna, He sought to create beings that would guide mankind along the Shining Path.

The results of this great endeavor were twenty artificial wombs, each containing a fetal transhuman greater than even anything crafted. Born of millennia of scientific discovery, warpcraft stolen from the Immaterium, and the very blood of the Anathema. These Primarchs were built to be the heroes of a new age. An age of Imperium, where Humanity was ascendant and no longer feared the darkness. A noble ambition, but other forces stood in opposition to the newly crowned Master of Mankind. The Primordial Annihilator sought to claim these infant Primarchs. To warp them from paragons of mankind to tools of doom and darkness.

Reality shimmered as spacetime was distorted by a Warp Rift. The Ruinous Powers had gambled everything on this. An Immaterium born paradox that would seal both the Galaxy and the Anathemas Fate. Using sons of the XVII Legion and the insanity of warp currents, they planned to pluck the twenty Primarchs from safety and twist them however they pleased.

Argel Tal and his brothers of the Serrated Sun Chapter exited the rift. Stunned and disjointed by the flickering visions and movements through reality, Argel Tal attempted to identify his surroundings to no avail. The oily voice of Ingethel the Ascended poured into his mind. Secrets and lies were pumped into him like a serpent's venom. Like the puppets they were, the Word Bearers moved forward with a stiff halting gate not known to Astartes. With their faith in the Emperor shattered fully, and the Primordial Truth laid bare, Tal knew what must be done.

Moving slowly past the glass wombs he pulled forth his blade and advanced on the Gellar Field generator at the center of the chamber. The True Gods would save the Primarchs from the False Emperor and his Father would be vindicated. In his stupor, he lifted his blade and prepared to destroy the only defense the infant demi-gods had from the predators of the Warp.

Right as his blade began its downward arch, the warp stirred again. Ingethel let out a screech when she felt the power and its source. At the other end of the chamber from the Serrated Suns' portal, another gash in the Materium opened up. Not a gash that wept corruption and Chaos like the first, this one burnt with Holy Fire. Ingethel began to quake her Daemonic form weakening under the pressure coming from the rift.

"Anathema… THE ANATHEMA HAS COME!" the newly born Daemon Prince wailed in horror and fear as the aura of the being her kind feared above all burst forth from the portal.

The Word Bearers sensed it too, and as one their hackles raised at the False Emperor's presence. The pain and humiliation of Monarchia was a fresh wound in their Transhuman memories. Yet even the Word Bearers who had been witness to the Emperor's wrath were shocked by the energy leaking from the rift. While the power unleashed on Monarchia had been far more brutal and unrestrained than the usual psychic aura the Emperor gave off, this was far worse. It was a nova of sheer psychic dominion. Unfettered by mortal constraints, it bathed the chamber in a white light that seared the minds and souls of the Heretic Astartes.

Ingethel buckled under the scalding light, and her form was hurled screeching back into the Warp. With their portal collapsing and their guide gone, the Word Bearers were lost and confused. Their Pilgrimage of enlightenment had turned into a trap. The worse for them was yet to come though. For this warp rift was not meant to banish Ingethel or protect the infant Primarchs from Chaotic taint, but to transport a chosen few through time and space to avenge themselves and save the Imperium. The Legion of the Damned had come to change destiny.

Bolterfire erupted throughout the laboratory as the Damned open fire on the Word Bearers. Diving for cover, the Traitor Astartes were pinned down by constant volleys of burning ammunition. A number of them had been too late to react to the sudden appearance of ghostly burning Astartes and were now reduced to hunks of burning meat and bubbling blood. Recovering first, Tal ordered his Battle-Brothers to open Fire on the Phantoms while avoiding the infant Primarchs.

Bolt Shells whizzed past the Gestation Capsules as the firefight continued. Alarms and Klaxon began to wail adding to the frantic chaos. Slowly but surely the Legion of the Damned moved closer and closer to the embattled heretics. Peering behind his cover Argel Tal noticed the Number on the gestation capsule one of the Damned hid behind. XIII. Struck by grim inspiration he fired his Bolt Pistol at the Womb of what would be Guilliman. Attempting to kill two birds with one infernal shell.

Moving faster than what was thought possible for an Astartes, one of the Legionaries threw himself in front of the shell. It punctured the Ghostly Astartes armor and he flickered out of the materium like a candle snuffed out by the wind. Tal's transhuman eyes noticed something particular about the martyred enemy. His armor may be burnt and blackened, but the inverted Omega on his pauldron was still barely visible.

"Sons of Guilliman always willing to follow their arrogant father," he thought to himself before barking orders to his sons.

"Target the Capsules marked I, VI, VII, XI, XIII, XVIII, and XIX" he barked. Tal knew his purpose here was to allow the Gods to claim the Primarchs, but if he could not do that then at least he could cripple the False Emperor and eliminate threats to his father and his legion before they even existed. Or at the very least allow these phantoms to martyr themselves saving what might be their future gene-fathers.

Argal Tal's hypothesis was correct. Legionnaire after legionnaire stood in front of the incoming fire to protect the infant Primarchs. Yet even with these casualties, these blacked, flame ensorceled saviors still advanced on the Word Bearers, butchering the heretics with Bolt Fire and even their blades if they got close enough to a straggling one. What had been a slaughter became a pitched a battle between the rows of Gestation Capsules.

After ten minutes that seemed to last ten hours, only a handful of Damned Legionnaires along with Tal and his three remaining Serrated Suns. Word Bearer corpses and bolter shells littered the room, while the Chambers doors quaked with the attempts of outside Imperial Forces attempting to breach the sealed laboratory. Cursing in Colchisian, Tal barked orders to his remaining Battle Brothers. They were running out of time. Even if they won this battle, the False Emperor's slaves would kill them instead.

Ordering his Brothers to retreat, they charged towards the Gellar Field generator hoping to salvage their original objective. One Heretic stayed behind to provide covering fire. He screamed maddened Colchisian prayers as flaming bolter rounds tore him to pieces. The remaining three charged towards the generator as the Legion of the Damned pursued. A volley of flaming ammunition ripped apart another Word Bearer, but they were so close. Mere meters away from salvation and humanity's eyes being opened to the Primordial Truth.

His desperate hope would not come to pass however, for while the firefight raged, one last being exited the Legion of the Damned's portal. He now stood in between the last two Heretics and the Generator. Towering over both Astartes, with armor as burnt and blackened as the others, it was still unmistakably a Custodes. With a single slash of his burning Guardian spear, Tal's last remaining Brother was dead and he stood alone against a blackened burning ghost of the Emperor's foremost warriors.

For a split second, Argal Tal and the Custodes stared at each other. Tears of Molten Metal trickled from the Custodes visor as recognition dawned upon the Serrated Suns captain.

"Aquillon?" he wondered, fear and trepidation creeping into his voice. As soon as those fateful words of recognition left his mouth, the Guardian Spear of the Vengeful Custodes parted his head from his body.

(A.N. The information on the periods of Imperial History I am writing about is fairly inconsistent and spotty so there will be most likely errors in timelines and similar things. The basics of this story is it starts towards the end of the Unification Wars. Terra is almost fully conquered by the Thunder Warriors on their last legs and Luna is subjected fully. Mars has not been contacted and the Primarch project is almost finished.)

(EDIT: Thanks to Klickator for his wonderful Beta-Reading and Editing! Making this much more readable)


	2. Chapter 2: Message in a Bottle

**Chapter Two: Message in a Bottle**

The sealed doors to the Laboratory exploded inwards in a shower of smoke and sparks. Soldiers of the nascent Imperium along with frantic gene-smith's rushed into the chamber searching for the source of the alarm and source of the bolter fire. The soldiers noticed the fallen Word Bearers positions around them, looking warily at the strange warriors and preparing to fill the corpses with rounds if any these trespassers were still alive.

The gene-smiths in turn frantically scrambled to the various data-readouts and monitors attached to the gestation capsules. The Great Work could not be damaged. Too much had been done to ensure the Primarchs' birth. If they had been damaged or contaminated… trillions would die begging for saviors stolen from them.

A third party soon entered the Chamber, A old man cloaked in ragged robes flanked by golden armored giants. The soldiers and gene-wrights instantly snapped to attention at the sight of The Sigillite and the Custodes Guard. Malcador's wizened eyes scanned the chamber while his mind's eye did the same. These corpses stunk of the Great Enemy, no denying that. Worse still, a chaotic portal had been opened in this most secret and protected chamber. Malcador quickly used his formidable psychic powers to cleanse the chamber of Neverborns corruption.

Yet something else hung in the chamber. Another aura that was much fainter than the chaotic taint had been obscured until Malcador purified the chamber and he could tell that it was radically different from the seeping Chaotic cancer that clung to the Primordial Annihilators' minions and tools. This aura mystified Malcador, it was equal parts familiar and horrifically alien. Moving through the chamber with speed that a man of his age and bearing should not possess, the Sigillite followed the strange psychic signal through the rows of infant Primarchs.

The source was quickly identified. It was a point where reality and the warp had once intersected. Malcador was no stranger to warp rifts, both open and shut, but this particular rip in the Materium was new. Unlike the ugly wounds rent open by the Neverborn and their minions, this rift had been both carefully cut open and then sealed, akin to a surgical cut that had been sutured. The place where the rift once had been did not weep corruption, but instead soft golden energy slowly emanated from it. Reaching out to the rift, Malcador touched the metaphysical suture with his mind. The Sigillite was suddenly cast backward in an explosion of psychic power that threw the ancient Psyker a dozen feet or more.

Even as the old man was thrown back from the rift, the Custodes reacted faster than unaugmented eyes could detect and moved to Malcador, attempting to assist him. Quickly moving to his feet before the Custodes could help him, Malcador telekinetically summoned his staff that lay on the ground next to him. Calmly as if nothing had happened, he quickly left the chamber, giving orders for the tainted corpses to be sealed away in one of the warded cells meant for the most tainted and twisted artifacts of the Old Night, and for a permanent detachment of Custodes to be placed in the Chamber of the Primarchs.

Despite his calm demeanor, Malcador was worried. He had felt an incredible psychic presence from the sutured portal, far beyond anything he had ever witnessed in his incredibly long lifetime. Yet the power was not what disturbed him, it was what the power resembled. It felt like a twisted, magnified version of his Liege's power. When he touched the rift, his mind had been bombarded with a massive amount of information and psychic power. In his long life, Malcador had encountered similar things, psychic beacons created to transfer information directly into the brain of a worthy recipient. The beacon had even seemed to consider Malcador worthy to open it, seeing as it didn't try to detonate his brain and that of everyone's within a mile radius. Yet it seemed that Malcador simply lacked the power to tap into the beacon's knowledge.

The nature of the anomaly was bizarre even for the already strange phenomena it was. It was weaved into the rift itself, and then sealed into the veil between reality and the Warp. This form of metaphysical psychic surgery was something beyond Malcador's capabilities, or virtually anyone or anything else's for that matter. The amount of psychic control and power this must have taken was possible to only one being in the known universe. This Message had come from The Anathema. Yet Malcador's liege and friend was busy negotiating with the new leadership of the Yndonesic Bloc, and would have no need to send such a cryptic and inaccessible message, or at least would have informed Malcador of this.

Even if this beacon was a contingency that the Sigillite was not privy to, the Chaotic incursion raised more questions. How had their portal been opened? How did they know where the project was? What were the things they sent through the portal? They were obviously gene-crafted monsters, but the designs of their armor and what little of their biology Malcador had seen disturbingly reminded him of the Thunder Warriors and the Custodes themselves. Something worrying was occurring, and Malcador had theories but no concrete evidence about what all of this was.

The First Lord of Terra knew one thing for certain: The Emperor of Mankind must be made aware of this. The Sigillite knew He could decipher the beacon's message and learn the secrets locked away with the infant Primarchs. Malcador moved quickly through the passages and chambers of the Lunar Labs as he journeyed to the shuttle port. He needed to return to Terra and speak with the Emperor immediately.

Location- Hive Jakar: Capital of the Yndonesic Bloc

The Inner Sanctum of Yndonesa was a massive ornate chamber, the very walls were encrusted in gems and covered with colossal religious murals that were being removed even as the future of the nation was being decided below. A grand oaken table was the centerpiece of the chamber where once countless demagogues and tyrants had bickered and argued over their fiefdom. Now, half of it was occupied by the provisional government that had formed after the fall of Cardinal Tang. All of them were in various states of fear and stress directed towards the being occupying the other half the table, the figure who was both their conqueror and their judge. He alone would decide their fate. Would they be cast down and broken like so many other warlords of Terra, or would they be spared to serve this new conqueror?

A palpable silence filled the chamber as the Emperor of Mankind watched his quarry through golden eyes that shone like miniature stars. He had met countless of their ilk throughout his impossibly long lives. Not monsters or butchers, but the servants of such. More often than not, they never directly killed, but were obedient little cogs in great machines of death and destruction. As much as he would have preferred to kill these spineless fools who had allowed millions, if not billions to die and now could only offer "I was just following orders" as a defense, they had kept the wheels of twisted evil governments running and he needed these little cogs in his infant Imperium.

Slowly rising to his feet, the Emperor began to slowly pace the chamber, dictating his terms of surrender. They would serve and submit, or be destroyed like so many others. The cogs gave it half a second's thought before bowing before their new Master. After giving the most capable of them new roles in the governance of this territory, he left the chamber letting the new elite of Hive Jakar collapse in relief with the knowledge they would not face the same fate as their previous masters.

Flanked by Custodes, the Emperor walked briskly to his waiting shuttle. Most of Terra was now under his rule, and construction of the various buildings in the Himalayas was on schedule. The Shining Path was still open to him, and with every day that passed, he allowed himself just the smallest amount of hope that the Darkest most horrific futures he had seen would not come to pass.

Valdor quickly approached him and bowed to his creator and king. Giving the signal to his friend and closest bodyguard to rise, the Captain-General quickly gave a sealed datapad to the Emperor.

"It's from the Lord-Sigillite, there has been an incident on Luna." and with that, the Master of Mankind-to be became lost in dark thoughts. Had the Four come to collect? Had he lost his greatest allies and generals before they were even born? The Emperor knew that Chaos would attempt to steal his creations at some point, but the barriers in and around the laboratories were some of the finest crafted in galactic history, something massive had gone wrong. Entering his shuttle with the Custodes, he left the Hive preparing to journey to Luna.

Unsealing the datapad, the Emperor used his beyond superhuman intellect to absorb pages of information in milliseconds. Constantine Valdor watched his Lord scan the documents as the shuttle rocketed into orbit. A strange noise left the Emperor's throat and Valdor looked up in concern, fearing some pathogen or poison had slipped through security. It took Valdor's heavily modified and trained mind a solid second to recognize the noise the Emperor was making. It was a chuckle. The Emperor of Mankind was laughing as he read the message his closest advisor had sent. He could feel the future shifting, he could feel the Shining Path widen and humanity's survival becoming a little more likely.


	3. Chapter 3: Death Knell

**Chapter Three: Death Knell**

The shuttle sped out of Terra's orbit headed towards the shining crescent of Luna. Thinking back to a similar moment in the distant past the Emperor allowed himself a moment of reminiscence of that fateful summer day when he watched the first human to set foot on Luna from Mission Control. Snapping back to the present, the Emperor began to speak with Valdor.

"There has been an incursion in the Laboratory. The Great Enemy attempted to steal the Project, but they were stopped by an unknown actor who left a psychic beacon in the chamber. Stranger still, Malcador believes the Beacon is meant for me alone and has some interesting theories about its origin."

Valdor stiffened at the news of the incursion and immediately began planning more through security measures.

"What does the Lord Sigillite theorize it is?" asked the Captain-General. The Emperor's lips formed a grim smile as he responded.

"He thinks it's from Me, or at least a version of me. The psychic signal the beacon let off is close to my own and stranger things have occurred in the galaxy" The Emperor's eyes began to glow softly as he formed a mental link with Valdor in order to not just tell but show him all he needed to know.

"The currents of the Warp have always been dangerous and bizarre, Even during the Golden Age, it was not unheard of vessels arriving before they left or worlds obscured by Warp-storms to experience time differently. It's not inconceivable this is a message cast from some distant future as a warning or trap."

"A trap?" responded Valdor, he and his fellow Custodes had faced countless forms of warp trickery including Skin-Witches, Flesh-Formers, and other warp empowered horrors impersonating the Emperor, and the idea of a weapon designed solely to hurt his Liege brought forth the closest thing to tranquil fury a Custodes could properly feel.

Continuing, the Emperor showed countless more snippets of knowledge and data to his bodyguard as he spoke "Yes, this might be some twisted thing created by the Four in the Warp to ensnare me. It could even be something cast from an alternate reality, research that ended badly towards the end of the Dark Age, or perhaps something hitherto unseen by human eyes."

Valdor saw thousands of realities and futures laid before him, and watched many snuffed out by monsters and abominations his creatpr sought to deny. Countless realities had died thanks to the multitude of threats both material and immaterial that haunt the universe. Valdor was the most exalted of the Custodes, and had been given the privilege of seeing some of the knowledge and wisdom his Emperor possessed numerous times, but it still disoriented him to have his consciousness even momentarily stretched to the macroscopic view that the Emperor held of history and existence. Continuing to speak, the Emperor mused to himself

"Malcador seemed to believe time travel is involved. He described the psychic signal as both similar to mine, and horribly distorted. As if it had been both bleached of intricacies, and grotesquely amplified." The shuttle continued its journey to Luna uneventfully as the Emperor and Valdor discussed the last phase of the Unification of Terra along with possible security measures to prevent another attempt on the Primarchs.

A few short hours passed, and they were on the final approach to Luna. The Emperor fondly remembered ancient times when to touch Terra's moon was considered all but impossible and how glorious it had been when a single small step for man opened up giant leaps for mankind.

This peaceful recollection was shattered when the shuttle come within a few miles of Luna's surface. The Emperor's peerless psychic senses detected something strange deep within the Moon below. Something that despite being trapped beneath miles of sanctified and fortified stone and steel, still called out to him. Landing within a hanger hidden from prying eyes near Luna's North Pole, the Emperor and his Custodes left the shuttle and prepared to descend into the bowels of the ancient Laboratories where wonders and horrors of genetic artistry were created.

Not a soul was to be found, all diverted to allow the ruler of both Terra and Luna absolute secrecy. The Emperor and his guards soon approached the laboratory where the Primarchs had been crafted and now grew. Waiting for them was the withered form of Malcador the Sigillite. After bowing to his master and friend, Malcador began to speak.

"I take it the situation in the Yndonesic Bloc was resolved?" Giving a curt nod of confirmation the Emperor then locked eyes with Malcador and for a brief second the two greatest Psykers in the galaxy touched minds. To those with the psychic sense to detect the momentary connection where memories and secrets were exchanged between the old friends, it would have appeared like a lightning bolt traveling between their souls.

Instantly, other details that Malcador had feared to send even though the most secure channels entered the Emperor's mind, while in turn new knowledge and plans related to the burgeoning Imperium entered Malcador's. This method allowed the two to work in almost perfect unison in their frantic struggle to allow humanity a shot at surviving the horrors of the galaxy.

Malcador joined the Emperor's entourage as they silently entered the laboratory where the Imperium's greatest secret was kept. Servitors had already cleaned away most signs of the battle that had been fought here less than 48 hours ago. All that remained were discolored patches of wall and floor where bolter holes had been patched and strange scorch marks that no amount of scrubbing could remove.

Slowly walking past the gestation capsules, the Emperor eyed his creations. He mused on how close he had come to losing them to the Neverborn and wondered what twisted mockeries of his ambition would have been born from these twenty Transhumans. The Custodes retreated to the entrance and corners of the room to stand guard over their master and his magnum opus. Flanked by Malcador and Valdor, the Emperor reached the end of the Chamber where reality and the warp touched.

The semi-closed rift leaked energy that crackled and lapped at the air in the form of distorted flames. The Emperor had sensed the rift and the energy from orbit but only now when he had passed through the countless wards and defenses built into the very structure of the lab did he feel it in its entirety. In a moment that Valdor would remember for the rest of his existence, the Emperor paused mid-stride as the nature of the energy became fully apparent to him.

The psychic aura cascaded over the Emperor as his impossibly developed psychic perception analyzed it and the ancient transhuman's mind realized what it was. It was the spiritual death scream of a psyker, the final warp-born howl of a dying powerful psychic as its soul left its body. That alone would never be enough to shock the Master of Mankind, for he had personally been the cause of multiple Alpha class psykers emitting such a thing. What disturbed him was that the scream was his.

Not even Malcador had realized the nature of the signal, for not even the Anathema of Chaos could envision his own death. For even in the worst possible future the countless seers of the galaxy witnessed, the Lord of Perpetuals was a constant. Slowly speaking to his twin advisors and friends, the Emperor dictated instructions for how they should proceed:

"It's genuine, this is no trap but a message sent to me. Only I am capable of receiving it. Malcador, be prepared to enact Contingencies: Terminus, Star-Child, Secundus, Malice, and Dragon."

Malcadors eyes shot open as every single worst case scenario plan he and his master had developed was mentioned and that whatever this message was it could trigger them. Valdor spoke up with an almost pleading voice

"My Lord if this is that dangerous, isn't it better to destroy this message rather than let whatever purpose it holds be fulfilled?" Quietly, in a voice that ordered the death of worlds and planned the salvation of species, the Master of Mankind said.

"Its purpose is to save humanity, and if that requires damning me I will gladly do it a thousand times over." And with that, the Emperor of Mankind reached out to the beacon and touched the mind of its creator.


	4. Chapter 4: Corpse Emperor

Chapter Four: Corpse Emperor

The Emperor felt his mind being pulled into the beacon, beckoning him to meet with the being beyond the rift. With a deep shuddering breath, the Master of Mankind took the plunge. A flash of golden light filled the Chamber and reality shifted. Malcador and Valdor both braced themselves in fear as the light swallowed there Master.

The Emperor's eyes shot open, he had delved into the beacon and wherever he was, this too was part of the message. The first thing he noticed was the smell. Incense and ozone hung in the air in an overpowering amount. The Emperor was grimly reminded of the countless Cathedrals he had visited and destroyed. The second thing was the truly obscene amount of psychic pressure in the room. His supernatural and physical senses were both muffled by the bombardment of excessive stimuli.

He scanned the chamber around him in the hazy half-light, attempting to get his bearings. The Emperor was standing at the foot of a t gigantic staircase that ascended a truly massive pyramid of machinery and religious iconography. A scowl settled on the Emperor's face as he walked towards the stairs. He was obviously in some sort of temple of obscene opulence and meaning to whatever misguided fools created it. As he reached the first step he was startled by what at first he had assumed were statues standing on either side of the First step. They were Custodes, unmistakable in their Ornate armor. The Emperor recognized them as Hetaeron Guard, his nature as a psychic projection masking him from their view. He observed this counterpart to his companions. They were practically identical except for a single worrying detail, their cloaks were not the flowing red of the Custodes he knew but a ragged black raiment of grief.

Horrific realization poured over the Emperor's mind as the nature of the massive chamber he was in became evident. It was a tomb, his tomb. Wherever or whatever was the source of the Beacon it came from a place where he had fallen. Taking a deep shuddering breath the Emperor knew what must be done and began to ascend the pyramid.

Slowly but surely he climbed the artificial mountain. The psychic aura was only becoming stronger and the Emperor could feel the storm of energy buffett his mind, body, and soul. Every hundred steps there were twin platforms on either side of the stairs. A Custodes stood on each platform flanking the steps. The Emperor grimaced as he looked at these doppelgangers, every pair seemed to be more injured and damaged. The first pair he noticed with damage had small scorch marks on them, but as he ascended the damage became much more apparent. Their golden armor was blackened and twisted, no longer the ornate wargear of his closest companions, but broken slag clinging to decrepit transhumans.

Trying to shake off the growing feeling of unease that gripped him, the Emperor continued his ascent with gritted teeth. The psychic inferno raging at the top of the pyramid stung his skin and soul as he approached, the sheer amount of psychic energy pouring off whatever sat at the top of this structure could boil the blood of lesser beings and snuff out there souls like a candle in a gale. The Emperor was getting close to the top, a few hundred steps and he would reach the peak of this grotesque monument. The next pair of Custodes he saw made him stop for a second. The one on the left had impaled himself on his guardian spear, it stuck through his shoulder as a morbid crutch to keep the transhuman warrior standing upright. The one to the right had his armor had fused with the floor and its occupant seemed to be slowly burning to death inside, yet despite the clear pain and torture both men were under, neither one of them moved or made so much as a sound.

Cursing under his breath, the Emperor sped forward past the broken guardians, moving with superhuman speed up the last bit of the staircase, not stopping to look at the remaining Custodes. Every second spent in this broken reality where his companions were reduced to such a state and his tomb had become a temple grated on the Emperor's mind. Whatever this message was, it must contain answers to what created this realm.

After hours of climbing, the Emperor of Mankind reached the summit. The psychic energy that pressed upon his soul had reached a new level of intensity. Reality shimmered and seemed to burn under the mass of raw mental and spiritual power pouring forth. Gathering his energies to cloak himself, the Emperor approached the scalding psychic light. He could feel the death howl far more clearly now and a shiver ran up the Emperors spine as his psychic senses detected something new to the psychic scream. His psychic wail was part of it, the loudest and most horrific by far but not the only one, not even close. A chorus of a agony and death echoed with his own. Millions, if not billions of individual psychic screams could be heard in the Warp-Born cacophony.

Finally, he was close enough to cut through the psychic and physical miasma that obscured his senses and the nature of the pyramid and its capstone became apparent. It was a truly massive machine that funneled colossal amounts of energy into a throne. The Throne often seen in the Emperor's own visions. The Throne that would be humanity's salvation and the path to ascension. Slowly the Emperor approached the massive object, scalding psychic light cascaded off of the Throne obscuring the Emperor's senses as he approached. Then finally, when he stood directly before it, he could see its occupant freely. For the first time in millennia, the Master of Mankind wept.

The thing on the throne was grotesque, a rotting, broken corpse held together by sheer psychic might and technology that should have been left forgotten in ages past. Thousands of innocents were fed mind, body, and soul to the husk. This abomination stuck on the precipice of Death disgusted the Emperor, it was a undead monster filled with more psychic power than anything he had ever seen that screamed a never-ending Death Knell of despair and agony. The thing on the Throne was Him.

Fighting back the urge to wretch the transhuman champion of the human species felt an emotion once thought gone to him, fear. Something somewhere had not just killed him but distorted him into a psychic parasite that fed off of others to prolong the inevitable. This corpse on the Throne was worshiped like a god. Not just any god, but the worst kind of deity that the Emperor had spent so long trying to defeat. It was failure incarnate, the manifestation of all his worst fears and doubts. Falling to his knees, the stunned Emperor of Mankind could not help but wonder aloud.

"How?" that single word filled with distress and fear hung in the colossal chamber for a long and terrible moment. How had his dream failed so horribly? In this twisted place, he had been reduced to a corpse on the edge of life and death in some sort of macarabe temple of sacrifice.

Millions of thoughts swirled through his transhuman mind. Someone had brought him here to see this, someone powerful. It was not the Ruinous Powers, for all there power and schemes they held no purchase on him and such tricks and traps could never reach this level of intricacy. No, this was not an illusion but some other time or place. The remaining candidates for the beacons creation were equally worrying. The Dragon of Mars? One of his wayward Children? A future Primarch? A surviving Elder One? Or a last desperate call from the corpse in front of him in order to prevent this future.

Before the Emperor could continue his stream of thoughts, a sudden psychic pulse reverberated through the chamber. A wave of psychic energy rolled off of the Throne like a ocean swell, crashing upon the stupefied Master of Mankind. Then a second pulse occurred, then another. It reminded the Emperor of a grossly magnified heartbeat, and it took the Emperor a split nano-second to realize that was exactly what it was. In a profane parody of resuscitation, the Throne was pouring Psychic energy into the corpse forcing its broken form to somewhat function. Slowly moving closer to his deceased counterpart, he wondered if it was possible that some parody of life still dwelled in the decayed thing in front of him?

He got his answer when the Corpse-Emperor stirred to life. Its eye-sockets suddenly glowed with supernatural light while it's attached arm slowly reached out towards him. The carcasses jaw fell open and in a voice that could shatter worlds and dominate armies, it spoke.

"Emperor Athām the Revelation: Master of Mankind, Anathema to Chaos, Augustus Imperator, Father of the Imperium, Lord of Terra and Mars, Omnissiah, Lord of Perpetuals, Sire of Heroes, and the New Man. I need to speak to you"


	5. Chapter 5: God-Emperor

**Chapter Five: God-Emperor**

The Emperor stood still for a moment as a psychic shockwave hit him with the force of a Thunder Hammer. His senses were no longer obscured by the Thing on the Throne, and he could see the truly horrific nature of the corpse before him. The Immaterium as far as he could sense was utterly glutted with the white-hot power of his doppelganger. The Emperor had been often likened to a Supernova packed into a human form, yet in this reality, his dying body could no longer hold his sheer psychic might and that force was leaking out of him, smothering Terra in unimaginable psychic power.

This Corpse Emperor had transcended the physical form and become a mass of sheer psychic energy. A shiver went down Athām's spine. This version of him was even further from human than he himself was. Before him was not a man, but a terrifyingly powerful creature, far more akin to the First Races or those who Dwell in the Warp than the children of Terra. He had been worshipped by countless cultures as a deity or something similar due to his power and age, yet he had always spurned that accursed title. Countless beings had called themselves gods in ages past, and every single one of them had been undeserving of worship or adulation. Yet here he was, worshipped as a God and more Warp-Energy than Man, barely tethered to the materium by a broken husk of a body.

These thoughts and a million more swirled through the mind of the Lord of Perpetuals in about the time a baseline human's reflexes would kick in. In other words, the Emperor was in a state of bewildered shock. Another wave of psychic energy cascaded into the corpse and the Emperor watched as warp-born energy filled the husk's cells and neurons, puppeteering them into a parody of life. The Corpse-Emperor spoke again, it's tone devoid of emotion as it gestured with a wizened limb for the Living-Emperor to come closer.

" **Surprise is understandable, none of our projections or visions depicted this outcome. The Enemy ensured that we were blind to their twisted machinations. Yet we are not allowed such weakness and waste. I have a limited amount of time to convey a large amount of information in order to ensure our victory."**

Slowly stepping towards the mouthpiece of his future existence The Living Emperor let his mind touch with the pseudo-god before him. It was like touching the surface of the sun. Pain, excruciating, soul-shredding pain blasted through the Emperor. For both a split second and an eternity, he touched his counterpart's soul and felt what he felt and knew what he knew. Over ten millennia of information and experiences were shoved into his mind. Tears began to flow down the Living Emperor's face as the sheer horror of the Heresy, the failure of the Webway, and all of the crimes of the Imperium slammed into him.

As suddenly as they had began, the memories ended. The knowledge had flowed into him in a blast of nightmares. The Living Emperors mind felt wrong, the visions were stored deep inside his labyrinthine brain, but not fully accessible to him. He had created thousands of memory locks like this in his time but rarely had the Master of Mankind suffered from one.

" **We implanted as much of our memory as we can access into you, it appears your limited form and emotions are not capable of handling such data all at once. We were so weak then, burdened by compassion, unable to transcend. You are us, but not us. This information is imperative to the survival of the Imperium, and will slowly trickle out as it becomes pertinent. Having all of it at the wrong times could destabilize you and cause errors we can not afford. We will now answer every question you have and more, and the answer to your first question of how the future that is our present occurred is that the Primarch Project failed."**

Still regaining his bearing, the Living Emperor suddenly focused. The thing before revolted him, not just its necrotic existence or its suffering, but the way it spoke and acted. The being that sat on the Golden Throne was far too similar to the cruel pantheons of both Materium and Immaterium. The Emperor knew he was more powerful than any human to ever exist, but this psychic abomination had discarded what separated the Emperor from the countless God-Things he battled and sought to deny. The Corpse Emperor had discarded its humanity and compassion. It was what he feared becoming most: a God-Emperor.

" **You do not approve of what we are? We are this because of the mistakes you will make. The Primarchs will fail, and only war will be left. All we strived for will become naught but dust, leading to both Emperor and Imperium shall becoming rotten titans desperately trying to delay the inevitable as the predators circle closer to our flock. The knowledge of this future is my gift to you, Firstborn of Terra, learn from the mistakes and save us all."**

Steadying himself and steeling his soul, the Living Emperor said: "So where do we begin?" In response to that, a cascade of images filled the Emperor's mind as the God-Emperor Spoke:

" **The most logical start is where our Imperium both truly started and failed: The Primarchs."**

Before his eyes, the Emperor watched the original timeline where the minions of Chaos riding the Birth Echoes of the Dark Prince had destroyed the Infant Primarchs protection and how the Chaos gods hurled them through the Warp to the planets that would rear them.

The Living Emperor watched the childhoods of the Primarchs through the lens of their memories. He saw an equal mix of heroics and horrors. Some like IX and XVIII rose above the hellish nightmares they had been dropped into, while others like XII and XIV became as monstrous as the there homeworlds.

"So that's how it was, the Four not only stole and twisted them but cast them onto broken worlds." The Emperor spoke with no emotion and could plainly see how the rest of the tale would unfold. Betrayal, Insanity, Chaos, Heresy… brother against brother, and the Galaxy in flames.

"Why did we not stop them? A cruel youth does not dictate a life? Why did Malcador or I not intervene with the wayward ones?" The God-Emperor responded callously to the question, as if such a thought was unworthy of one who possessed their power.

" **Have you deluded yourself? Have you forgotten the second purpose of the Project? To cleanse yourself of weakness and humanity to be a perfect leader of a new age. The Primarchs each hold a shard of your weakness to both empower them and elevate you. As they grow and develop, your humanity will wane. We designed this to offer them a level of protection from the Ruinous Powers and ensure humanity's path to survival"**

Shock flashed through the Emperor as he realized the mistake he had made. Each Primarch when he rediscovered them expected a teacher, a guide, even a father, and what they got was an inhuman Emperor. Taking a deep breath, the Master of Mankind asked: "How did you stop Chaos from stealing them? How did you change the timeline?"

Silence filled the Throne Room for a split second before holy flames burst into being across the gigantic chamber. Thousands of ethereal soldiers cloaked in fire flickered into existence at the base of the Pyramid. Each wore ghoulish burnt Power-Armor that seemed to be a more advanced version of his Thunder Legions. As one, the ghosts knelt before the Golden Throne and the God-Emperor spoke:

" **While we lacked the Primarchs and their gene-seed, enough samples survived for another weapon as great as they were to be born. The Primarchs may have been the greatest generals ever created, but the Legiones Astartes were the greatest army ever born of human stock. Even now, in the current era of the 41st Millenium, they protect the dying Imperium as the Angels of Death. Each one is infused with there Primarch's geneseed and are modified not just on the biological and psychological level, but on a spiritual one, becoming ever so slightly linked to us in both life and death. Those who become lost in the warp can be touched by us and reforged as the Legion of the Damned. They are ones who saved the Primarchs"**

Slowly, the ghosts faded out of existence like candles in the wind. The Emperor watched them go observing the various barely legible Legion markings on them. Inverted Omegas, Lighting Bolts, Wings, Blood Drops, and a scant few Custodes disappeared back into the immaterial as the Corpse Emperor continued:

" **The Galaxy is dying, Chaos, Xenos and other threats beyond even the most twisted nightmares of mortals are closing in. The war is lost and all that can be done is delay the inevitable. Even as we speak, the doom of all creation creeps closer. The Despoiler's legions have ripped the galaxy in half while the Locust Hordes descend. Yet in their hubris, Chaos left a small gap in their armor. With their might focused on opening the Great Rift, We used the might of Quadrillions of worshipers to cast my Legion back into history, riding the same currents the First Heretics did."**

The Living Emperors Psychic senses stretched out beyond the Terra to the galaxy at large and he could feel the Galaxy screaming. Billions were dying at the hands of monsters, and he could sense all of it. Every soul ripped from a screaming innocent to feed a Neverborn patron, Every child eaten alive by swarms of fanged xenos, Every hopeless last stand where brave soldiers died screaming prayers and begging for salvation that would never come.

The Emperor fell to his knees and let out a roar of righteous fury that shook Terra to its core. He had experienced this exact same horror once before when the Age of Strife dawned and the Federation fell. The Emperor of Man had been willing to cast everything aside, his morals, his oaths, even his humanity to prevent another such calamity yet he had failed. Standing again slowly, with tears slowly trickling from his golden eyes, he spoke in a tone that had ordered the deaths of entire worlds

"I will take this information you have gifted me. I will stop the grim darkness of the future from unfolding at all costs. The Imperium will ascend, no matter the price that must be paid"

The corpse on the Throne was still. The God-Emperor's mission was complete, and now all that was left was for the Emperor to return to the dawn of the Imperium and end the Long War before it could even begin.


	6. Chapter 6: Revelation

**Chapter Six: Revelation**

Eyes blazing with psychic might, the Emperor of Man turned from the Throne and began to descend the staircase to the portal he could feel opening at the foot of the Pyramid. A slow trickle of knowledge was his sole companion for the journey, and as he descended from the summit, a rudimentary timeline was forming in his mind of how the future would unfold. It showed him how the Webway project would begin and fail, and it showed him that the Four would use his absence to taint some of his greatest creations corrupt them into leading the forces of Chaos against him while he was entombed on the Golden Throne by another son's folly.  
Some of it was laid out for him almost like a story from an outsider's perspective, while others were painfully seen from his future selves eyes. The Emperor had never been an emotional being, millenia of loss and pain had jaded him, yet this did not mean he was devoid of compassion and love. These long buried, yet powerful emotions were brought to bear as he watched the almost robotic Emperor of the Heresy cruelly manipulate humanity and the Primarchs.

The Emperor of the Present had always known that unpleasant choices had to be made, and had made many of them himself throughout mankind's history. That was not what disquieted him, the uncaring coldness of how the actions were taken was what disturbed him greatly. The correct answer was not always the right one, and this future counterpart seemed to not understand that. Humans are beings that emotion is imperative to, and by casting them off he had spelled not only his own doom, but that of humanity's.

Guilt and fear beat a steady rhythm in Atham's mind as the full consequences of what he had done to ensure humanity's survival, yet would spell its doom. Even now, with the infant Primarchs growing, he could feel parts of himself slip away into the ether. The Primarchs may have been saved from the Ruinous Powers, but he was already damned to become the heartless God-Emperor. The rituals were irreversible, and the parts of himself he believed unnecessary for his Great Work were already being bound to his Twenty Creations.

The Emperor of Mankind reached the bottom of the pyramid of the Golden Throne with a leaden heart, while visions of atrocities committed both in his name and to topple him flashed before his eyes. The Warp-Rift that would take him to his own time stood before him, pouring forth golden light and radiant psychic power. Taking a deep breath, the Emperor of Mankind stepped towards it preparing to do whatever was necessary to save humanity.  
"STOP!"

A voice rang out throughout the chamber. Whirling around to the source of it at literal lighting speed, the Emperor prepared to face the source of the cry. Standing a few dozen meters away at the foot of the Pyramid was an Angel. The Emperor paused mid-stride as he looked at the being. It stood nearly three meters tall, and glowed with a soft golden light. Slowly, the golden-haired being moved towards the Emperor, its billowing white wings stirring softly like a bird's itching to fly.  
Focusing on the beings face the Emperor simply said: "I know you". Flickers of memories not quite his own stirred in Athams mind.

*Battling Side by Side with the Angel against Xeno Hordes*

*Crowning the Warmaster for his Triumph as the Angel and his brothers watched.*

*A Daemon infested Ship where the monstrous Avatar of Chaos stood over the Broken Angel*

Recognition dawned on the Emperors face as he focused past the being's psychic glow and saw its face. He was handsome like an ancient Terran portrait from the First Renaissance, yet marred by twin lines of red down its face, as if it had been crying tears of blood. The tear stained Angel spoke again:

"Hello, Father, or Father-To-Be. It seems the God-Emperor has succeeded in his mission, yet at the same time failed."

The Emperor stiffened at the beings words, he had known since the beginning of their creation that the Primarchs would view him as a parent, and in a way he was. Still, in his long life, he had buried many of his own children. Even the ones who had inherited some of his gifts. The idea of being the father of twenty superweapons disturbed him. Yet when he looked upon the being before him and all the memories of its triumphs and tragedies, a mix of pride and grief welled within him. Speaking softly, the Emperor asked: "How do you yet live Sanguinius? I have seen the memories. You fall facing Horus."

A soft, sad smile appeared on the Great Angel's face as he spoke. "I don't. Horus struck me down and my soul flew into the Immaterium. There, the being you knew as Sanguinius became one with The Emperor, and a piece of his lost compassion returned to Him." Visions flickered once more before the Emperor's Eyes.

* The Tainted Horus laughing psychotically as the Dark Gods channeled there might through the Warmaster as he rained blow after blow onto Him*

*Begging his once favorite son to stop, to try and reclaim his humanity*

*The Single Soldier, an old friend and a martyr, stepped before his prone, weeping from and Horus*

*The cruel laugh of Horus as he butchered the first to hold the line which turned to a scream as the Emperor of Mankind cast out his newly reclaimed humanity and struck with the full might of the being known as the Anathema*

The Spirit of Sanguinius continued: "You regained your humanity with my death, and cast it aside once again to slay Horus and strike back at the Great Enemy. Yet I did not fade into the eternal Storm of the Warp, but became sheltered in your light. Where much to my surprise, I discovered others like me. You are the Anathema: Bane of Chaos and Lord of the Sane. We are your sons, your shards, and even those who fell the furthest were born of you and all that was good in them could not be destroyed in their ascension but simply... banished elsewhere."

Golden Light flared from the Angel's wingtips and in a brilliant flash, other phantoms entered the Chamber. The Emperor looked over them and recognized each from his gifted memories. The Spirits of the Primarchs who had been slain and untaintable Shards of the Daemon Primarchs ringed The Emperor.

The Chorus of Fallen Demi-Gods spoke as one: "Father who failed us and who we failed, we offer the only thing we can to save the galaxy. The Humanity you gifted to us we now return to you. So that maybe this Final Revelation may allow Good to exist once again" In great billowing currents of Warp Energy the Primarchs surrendered themselves to rejoin with their creator.

Tears began to flow down the Emperor's face. Fragments of power and emotion poured into his soul. He had not just simply restored to his original state but had been empowered. Closing his eyes he felt the Pillars of psychic flame within his soul that had once been Primarchs, like great spouts of fire that supported and reinforced his Nova-like Soul. Yet looking past the psychic inferno smaller sparks of energy flitted in and about him. The Emperor smiled softly as he realized the nature of the swarms of sparks. They were souls, Quintillions of human souls bound to him to both empower him and to protect them.  
The Emperor was ancient, as old as human civilization, he had been there watching from the shadows throughout it and gently guiding it back on track when it was necessary. Yet throughout history, he had faced a consistent nemesis that not only stymied humanity with superstition, hate, and fear but allowed Darker much more nefarious forces to influence his species. This foe was all the worse because anytime he intervened in human history it grew exponentially. This foe was Religion

Yet for all of its crimes and cruel acts the facet that bothered him the most about it was the use of the Afterlife to control and manipulate people. The reason for this is quite simple. For the Emperor is the Human Afterlife.

The Being that would eventually be known as the Emperor of Mankind had been created by the eldest and most powerful human Psykers to protect humanity not just from material but immaterial threats. Every human soul not touched by one of the countless threats of the immaterium joined with him in death. Now the souls of fallen Primarchs and of those slain battling in the Grim Darkness of the far-future were safe, bound with him to escape the encroaching endtimes of this reality.

Opening his eyes the Emperor saw that two figures still stood before him. An Armored Angel and a Metal Armed Burning Giant. Two Fragments of the Primarchs were still bound to the God Emperor to battle alongside the Imperiums Angels and Daemons in the wars to come. The pieces bowed before the Emperor and faded out of the Materium.  
Taking a deep breath The Reborn Emperor of Mankind turned to the Portal and stepped back into his own time. Energy flowed over him as he felt his soul shooting back through the Warp Current that linked the 41st and 30th Millenia. In A blast of energy, the Emperor returned to the Laboratory.

Opening his eyes he looked around the chamber. It was exactly as it had been before, turning to Malcador who stood firm his own psychic might at the ready if the unthinkable had happened and the Emperor had gone mad. Asking in a hoarse whisper that still conveyed his natural authority and charisma he said: "How long was I gone?"

Malcador softly said: "Seconds at the most, a blast of light filled the room when you touched the beacon and that was moments ago. How long did it seem to you, my Lord?"  
Moving slowly with measured movements The Emperor began to walk towards the Infant Primarchs as he spoke: "Hours, maybe a day at most. You were correct Malcador, this message was meant for me and me alone."  
Malcador was worried. Something was different, The Emperor's psychic power seemed muted, weakened from its normal incredible state. The Sigillite alone knew certain secrets and contingencies designed to counter the Emperor if the impossible occurred and he became a threat to the Human species. These various plans floated through his ancient mind as he continued to speak to his friend and Master.

"Where is the message from and who is the source?" The Emperor's lips parted in a sad smile "It comes from me, a version of me from the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries That Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of Mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die."

"Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse."

"To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. I learned of this time from my future self and the lessons of that age are horrific. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods."


	7. Chapter 7: Shifting Fates

**Chapter Seven: Shifting Fates**  
Malcadors Eyes widened as the Emperor spoke, for with each word that the new Master of Mankind said thousands of psychic images filled his mind. Visions of a grim and dark future where humanity was enslaved to fear and suffering. The swirling cloud of memories and plans was transmitted to both Malcador and Valdor.

A Sharp crack resounded throughout the chamber as the shaft of Valdors Spear shattered under his grip. The Custodes are calm, collected beings that have nearly perfect emotional control, Valdor: the greatest of them was seething with incandescent rage at the very idea of such failure to protect the Emperor was antithetical to his very being. Speaking quietly to his closest companion the Emperor said: "This future will not occur, the knowledge I have gained will allow humanity to ascended. The Great Enemy has been thwarted."

Letting out a shuddering sigh Malcador slumped a little onto his staff. In a shaky voice he asked his oldest friend and the one being he had absolute faith in "What now?" To the surprise of the both Sigillite and Captain-General, a smile crossed the Emperor's perfect features. Placing a hand on the nearest Gestation Capsule he gazed at the fetus growing inside. The tiny being slept half-formed yet even now small wings could be seen protruding from Primarch IX's back.

Watching the being would have stood at the gates of the Imperial Palace the Emperor spoke: "We are going to continue as planned, except for a few variations of course. The Great Crusade will need to be delayed slightly but with all Twenty Primarchs leading from the start, we will be well within acceptable parameters. We will reach Ullanor in time and in a much stronger position than we originally planned."

"Malcador, unification is well underway and the Astronomicon is past the initial stages. Begin drafting groundwork with the Terrawat Elders for revisions on the design. Expect a much more considerable amount of Psychic backlash during the ignition and possible God-Forging possibilities related to it. Also, arrange the subtle elimination of these individuals" A shoal of data entered Malcadors mind about various problematic members of the New Imperium. From leaders of future rebellions to corrupt officials whose actions assisted the Heresy of the alternate future. Nodding solemnly the Grand-Master of Assassins prepared to carry out his duty."

Turning to Constantine Valdor the Emperor touched the broken spear Valdor still held and the adamantium-auramite alloy healed. "This Spear has served you well Constantine, but I believe something new is in order." Unsheathing his own blade the Emperor handed it to Valdor. Dropping to one knee the Custodes received the incredible gift. As it touched Valdors hands the blade shifted. Turning from a Golden Longsword into a shining spear. "You are my Spear, and you should wield a fitting weapon for the Wars to come." Honored beyond words the Captain-General received the weapon that would eventually be known as the Apollonian Spear.

As he motioned for the Custodes to stand and be at ease the Emperor spoke: "I face a slight conundrum Constantine, What to do about the Prototypes?" The Emperor, of course, spoke of the Thunder Legions, the brutal half-mad berzerkers that had conquered Terra in the Emperor's name yet were unsuited for the next phase of the Emperors plans. Something would be needed to be done.

Valdor had regained his perfect composure and responded: "My Lord, are you going to change the plans in motion to deal with them?" Sighing softly The Emperor shut his eyes before speaking "They have served me well, putting them down like rabid dogs is not a fate befitting those who laid the groundwork for my great plan." Thinking back to the memories he had seen, he remembered how the euthanization of the Thunder Warriors had helped push the Primarchs and their Legions into heresy and treachery

The Emperor's eyes flashed open and he calmly said: "Another solution must be reached, I will not allow the Bedrock of the Imperium to be the Blood of Martyrs." Leading Valdor and Malcador out of the chamber he continued to speak to both of them. "They will continue to die off but after their final battle, they will not be purged. Other uses will be found. Ensure Arik Taranis survives that battle. I have plans for the Lighting-Bearer to-be."

After giving a few additional orders to his Right Hand and Spear the Emperor was confident the Unification Wars would be finished without any more direct intervention. Now the two far more delicate tasks to tend to personally. The Conclusion of the Primarch Project, and the Astronomicon. The First would be the more difficult of the two. Altering there genomes this late in the project could spell disastrous results. Yet he knew the risks were well worth the rewards.

Months past as the last battle of Terra raged and The Emperor worked tirelessly. Even the greatest of the Luna Gene-Smiths who assisted him barely understood the esoteric methods being used. Science and Sorcery beyond anything ever seen in the galaxy were wielded in perfect tandem. The Primarchs were slowly being reforged on both the physical and spiritual level.

All twenty infant primarchs had their minds, bodies and genetic legacies enhanced. III's Geneseeds neurological issues caused by its extreme purity was cured. VIII and XIX had there geneseed rebuilt from the ground up to fix its deficiencies. XVIII and XIX had there malfunctioning Melanchromic Organs repaired and VI's reliance on additional Genetic modification was lessened.

These and countless other changes were being made to the infants who slumbered inside there artificial womb. Including two that affected all of them, and hopefully be the masterstroke to prevent there fall into heresy. First, the maturation enhancers had been removed, the Primarchs would grow at the rate of normal human children. The additional decades required would be costly to the timeline required for Humanity to survive but having the Primarchs be actual sane, healthy adults not just overgrown transhuman children would be more than worth it.

The Other change that had yet to occur weighed heavily on the Emperor, it would limit them, make the already distant Transhumans even less human. He would soulbind them to him. Protect them under his psychic bastion. Yet the idea of using such a powerful and horrific ritual on them… it left a bad taste in the Emperor's mouth. Shaking his head a deep sigh left the Emperor's lungs. Regaining his humanity had left chinks of morality and ethics in him that needed to be occansily dealt with.

Moving to the center of the chamber he prepared his Psychic Might, to touch his creations and brand their souls as extensions of the Anathema. Reaching out with feelers of light he touched each Infant Primarch and prepared to enact the ritual that would burn a mark into the Primarchs very soul. Like a Patriarch of one of the old faiths, he prepared to sacrifice his sons. Yet with both this case and that of Abraham and Isaac, an angel intervened.

A faint psychic voice spoke: "What are you doing father?" XV was awake. The most physically powerful of the twenty asked again: "What are you going to do father?" The Emperor allowed his psychic corona to die down as he walked over to the infant. The being that in a certain timeline would be known as Magnus the Red peered at his creator with both psychic and natural sight. Softly the Emperor spoke to his creation. "Saving you and your brothers from the darkness." Taking a deep shuddering breath he continued "Forgive me, my… my Son"

Just as he had declared his bond with his Twenty Creations, nay his Twenty Children the Emperor of Mankind reached out to cripple them in order to save them from the touch of Chaos. The Infant Magnus could feel the colossal psychic power surging forth and his own precognitive powers kicked in. Seeing a future where he and his brothers had their souls broken and reformed, their emotions and humanity crippled. With them being naught more than weapons instead of Humans.

In a desperate psychic plea, Magnus said: "Please Father, don't do this." Looking upon his children, innocent and helpless and seeing the cruel existance he was preparing to curse them with was to much. The Emperor fell to his knees. Tears streaming down his face. He could not do it. He could not do what needed to be done. The Emperor of Mankind had regained his humanity for better or worse. Stuck between two horrific options. Leaving his children unprotected from the predations of Chaos or maiming them into becoming little more than servitors in Transhuman bodies.

For an unknown period of time, the Emperor knelt there agonizing between his options until inspiration struck. The Emperor had suffered through the horrors of the Age of Strife, where mankind was at its weakest and worst. When everything he had ever strived for became dust. In that age of horrors, he had forgotten the truest tenant of being human. When faced with no good options, when neither option is the lesser evil you make a third option. Realizing the existance of a third option the Emperor felt a slight bit more of his humanity come to bear.

Binding his soul to the Primarchs would to irreparable harm, yet binding souls of similar power… That would provide a measure of protection while not causing the grievous harm he feared. The Emperor had seen in the far future where bonds of loyalty and brotherhood protected all from his Angels of Death to the lowliest soldier. He was going to forge quite literal ones between his children.

Turning to Magnus he reached out mentally to him and spoke "There is another way my Son. Another Way to turn back the darkness." Stretching out his soul to touch each of the Primarchs he felt the shards of himself within each and every one of them. Fragments that empowered them yet not strong enough to protect them, until now that is. In a display of warp-craft unrivaled except for a few of the truly great acts of the Ancient Eldar the Emperor of Mankind linked The Primarchs souls into a great chain. An unbreakable chain of brotherhood to unite his sons against the coming Darkness.


	8. Side Story: Project Results Part I

*Accessing… Accessing… Data Withdrawn. Code-Primarch. Knowledge reconsolidated and accessible. Data of I-X available. "May you Guide them better than I could" *

Primarch: I Lion El'Jonson

Foster World: Caliban- Death World with Feudal culture located near former Core of the Eldar Empire. Strong Military tradition in response to Chaos incursions. Home to possible Old One artifacts that contributed to its destruction at the end of the Heresy.

Discovery: 11th- Successfully incorporated with a large number of his foster worlds Warrior-Caste into Legion. Almost assassinated by Warrior-Caste Hardliners early on but survived thanks to Librarius aide.

Capabilities: Physical and mental capabilities well within upper parameters. Upbringing induced paranoid tendencies along with antisocial behavior. Possibly the greatest strategist of the twenty. Low Level Psychic abilities unlocked.

Legion: Dark Angels- Kept the Hexagrammatron organization doctrine. Heavy inspiration taken from Caliban Warrior Orders. Secretive and insular.

Heresy: Split Legion- Primarch stayed loyal along with half his legion. Numerous factors from paranoia to Xeno artifacts helped spur nearly half of his legion to go rogue.

Fate: Critically wounded during Legion Civil War. Comatose and hidden within Legion Headquarters. Legion became obsessed with hunting down traitor elements and became increasingly secretive.

Conclusion: Semi-Successful - Psychological damage reduced ability to cooperate and negatively affected Legion's loyalty. Yet proved time and again to be a capable warrior and strategist.

* * *

Primarch: II Tallas of Dunant

Foster World: Beställa- Paradise world with minimal technology. Enjoyed peaceful trade with Xenos throughout Age of Strife. Lead to its destruction when continued illegal trade allowed Rangdan contamination.

Discovery: 3rd- Slight difficulties with anti-xeno aspects of the Imperial Truth and petitioned for numerous Xeno species to be made protectorates throughout Great Crusade.

Capabilities: Skilled Void Admiral and diplomat. Displayed Psychic abilities related to remote viewing and technopathy. Not particularly martially skilled compared to the others but capable in mid to long range engagements.

Legion: Valedictors- Void and Aerial Combat specialists. More socially inclined than typical Astartes. Vast quantities of recruits later in the crusade had been contaminated by Murder-Mind indoctrination. Legion tore itself apart throughout the Rangdan Conflicts.

Heresy: Survivors stayed loyal and operate as 13th Legion successors.

Fate: Died with the vast majority of his Legion during the Third Rangdan Xenocide. The desire to avenge his Foster World and increasing psychological instability caused by possible Slaugth contamination and infiltration lead to eventual failure and death.

Conclusion: Failure - Only to fall in battle during the Great Crusade. Upbringing made him too trusting and indecisive. Proved to the others categorically the dangers of Xenos and their influences

* * *

Primarch: III Fulgrim

Foster World: Chemos- Mining World that suffered from extreme resource depletion. Unified diplomatically by III. Underwent artistic and cultural renaissance. Destroyed during Great Scouring.

Discovery: 5th. No issues. Legion quickly rebuilt from pre-discovery gene-issues and accidents. Served under XVI during rebuilding.

Capabilities: Martially skilled and extremely Charismatic. More than a simple warrior or general, a champion of civilization and the arts. One of the best duelists among them. Self-Confident to the point of egotism, insatiable drive for perfection.

Legion: Emperors Children- Rigorously trained and drilled to be the perfect warriors and soldiers. Displayed interest and skill in the arts. Tendency to egotism and glory seeking behavior.

Heresy: Traitor- Corrupted due to a mix of Slaaneshi exposure and gene-tweaking by a rogue apothecary. Became as twisted as any Eldar, if not worse. Utterly insane and little more than a hoard of addicts lead by a petulant monster.

Fate: III became possessed and fused with a Keeper of Secrets and a prime servant of Slaanesh. Legion became servants of Slaanesh and would have died off millenia ago if not for the rogue apothecary.

Conclusion: Externally Provoked Failure- Extreme potential to be a paragon of humanity. Chaotic corruption broke and reduced Primarch and Legion utterly and total. Anti-Chaotic Countermeasures must be developed.

* * *

Primarch: IV Perturabo

Foster World: Olympia- Urban world of warring city states. Raised by local warlord. Severe psychological issues such as Paranoia, and both a superiority and inferiority complex can be traced to his upbringing and possible chaotic contimanination.

Discovery: 12th Showed psychological instability from day one. Decimated his Legion upon first meeting them. Saw only the evils of the Imperium, not that they were necessary.

Capabilities: Extremely Intelligent, possible the greatest mind of them all. Calculating and inventive. Viewed war as in equation to be solved, and to use the most efficient and brutal tactics.

Legion: Iron Warriors - Siege Experts that create and use extreme technology to accomplish their goals. Extreme Paranoia and sociopathic tendencies noted, most likely side effects of near constant siege warfare and behavior of their Primarch.

Heresy: Traitor- Foster World broke out into rebellion that was brutally put down by a near psychotic IV. Possible manipulations by XVI lead to rebellion but IV ended up joining and being one of the key leaders of the rebellion.

Fate: Almost destroyed the VII Legion in a Great Scouring Siege. Multiple Legion strongholds still exist throughout the galaxy but IV along with most of the legion operate from a Daemon World within the Former Eldar capital sector.

Conclusion: Failure- IV's psychological instability and victim complex caused the formidable talents of both Primarch and Legion to be squandered. Possible Chaotic taint related to the Akashic Records.

* * *

Primarch: V Jaghatai Khan

Foster World: Chogoris- Feral world home to originally dueling Nomadic and City dwelling civilizations. V was raised by Nomads and conquered them to wage a war against the City dwellers. Strong Martial culture useful in gathering good recruits for the Legion

Discovery: 15th saw the Imperium as a chance to unify humanity, but did not agree with a lot of its concepts. Had a distaste for Empires and Emperors of any kind and viewed the idea of them as lies.

Capabilities: Martially and Tactically skilled, radically different tactics compared to the other legions that alienated some. Wiser and more mature in matters of emotion than all of the others. Honorable and courageous who knew his skill set and how to maximize its use.

Legion: White Scars- Fast Assault masters who specialized in both cavalry and hit and run tactics. Rich legion culture that unknown to most outsiders.

Heresy: Predominantly Loyal- Early worries about loyalty were quickly put to rest. V and his Legion were one of the three to fight at the Siege of Terra. Some dissenters attempted to side with XVI and V had doubts but decided the Imperium was the best option.

Fate: Returned to his Foster world to find it raided by Eldar. Followed raiders into Webway and was eventually captured. Believed to be held somewhere in the Webway city of Port Commorragh. Legion still serves with exemplary track record.

Conclusion: Successful- Proved to be one of the most psychologically stable of the Primarch. Chose to stay loyal to the Imperium in order to do what was best for Humanity.

* * *

Primarch: VI Leman Russ

Foster World: Fenris- Extreme Deathworld with Mega-fauna descendant of both Terran Super Predators and Extragalactic Xenos. VI was raised by both Fenrisian wolves and indigenous humans with culture similar to M1 Scandians.

Discovery: 2nd Slight difficulties, required to be defeated in various shows of strength. Once bested proved fiercely loyal and added large number of planets Warriors to growing Legion.

Capabilities: Extremely capable warrior, possibly the martially strongest of all of them. Cunning strategist at times, used his reputation as a berserker and barbarian to his advantage. Possessed subconscious psychic abilities used to bolster his already formidable physical capabilities.

Legion: Space Wolves/Vlka Fenryka- Brutal warriors who specializes in highly aggressive close range combat. Used a mix of tribal lore and Imperial technology. Sometimes considered closer to beast than man. Reliance on additional Gene-Modification (See Canis Helix) allowed a anti-warp Lycanthropic transformation known to them as the Wulfen.

Heresy: Loyal- Used by XVI to push XVI into PA9's clutches. Fought countless battles throughout the Heresy and nearly died on multiple occasions. Never forgived himself for not being at the siege.

Fate: Journeyed into the former Eldar Capital systems with inner circle to capture XV and use him to power the Golden Throne and Astronomicon, allowing us to heal.

Conclusion: Semi-Successful- Displayed numerous flaws that were used by opponents to manipulate him. Extremely loyal and used as executioner on numerous occasions. Legion reformed post Heresy into a less bestial and more useful force.

* * *

Primarch: VII Rogal Dorn

Foster World: Inwit- Frozen Hive World with fairly advanced technology. VII was raised by the leader of Tribe Dorn and eventually unified the world and the surrounding Inwit Cluster.

Discovery: 7th No issues, Inwit Cluster successfully integrated and VII's flagship, a salvaged Pre-Age of Strife Phalanx Class War-Citadel became the mobile HQ of his legion.

Capabilities: Extremely Loyal, and a master of siege craft. Displayed worrying masochistic tendencies based around the use of pain to focus and purify. Decent combatant but skilled strategist. Arguably one of the greatest Combat Engineers and Architects in Human History.

Legion: Imperial Fists- Stoic Siege experts capable of building or destroying great fortresses. Void Warfare and Martial skill were also skillsets known to them. The greatest Astartes warrior in galactic history Sigismund was the 1st Captain for most of the Great Crusade and Heresy.

Heresy: Loyal- Declared The Praetorian of Terra and spent vast majority of Heresy fortifying Sol System and defending form low level enemy incursions. (See Battle of Pluto) Along with Malacador lead the Terra based Loyalists.

Fate: Legion and Primarch almost destroyed in battle with IV and his Legion (See Iron Cage) Possible trauma related to our death affected performance post-Heresy. Wounded and Captured in a early Black Crusade. Stuck within the Eye battling champions of Chaos desperate to escape.

Conclusion: Succesful- Paragons of Loyalty and Determination VII was the Praetorian of Terra and earned that title many times over. Personality flaws made himill suited tohandling some of his siblings and more delicate matters but useful in his specialties.

* * *

Primarch: VIII Konrad Curze

Foster World: Nostromo- Hive world riddled with crime and poverty. Brutality, gangs, and insanity shaped VIII who raised himself on this world. His innate sense of justice was perverted by this environment, turning him into a serial killer who subjugated his Foster World through terror.

Discovery: 16th His distorted precognitive sight made him see only the worst possible fates of the Imperium, despite this he was trained by III and took command of his legion and formed into an effective fighting force. Unfortunately his leaving Nostromo allowed it to revert to its earlier state.

Capabilities: Master of terror tactics and asymmetrical warfare. Possessed Precognitive capabilities along with low level psychic powers. Capable of using precog in combat situations to duel considerably more powerful foes. Fear was his greatest weapon.

Legion: Night Lords- Became a legion of murders and monsters thanks to Nostromon recruits. Became more interested in sowing terror for personal enjoyment then doing their duty.

Heresy: Traitor- Harassed the Imperium Secundus for most of the Heresy, VIII actions lead to its collapse and IX making it to Terra.

Fate: Executed by our orders, willingly gave up his life to Vindicate himself. Body claimed by Officio Assassinorum and used in various projects. Legion fractured into warbands and is minimally chaotically corrupted.

Conclusion: Failure- Upbringing and lack of training to use his abilities caused severe psychological problems. Fell into the curse of Precognitive abilities. Believed destiny is unchangeable and his actions lead to an extremely negative future.

* * *

Primarch: IX Sanguinius  
Foster World: Baal- Death World created due to Age of Strife Devastation. Home to dueling populations of Genetically pure humans and disaster created Mutants. IX was discovered by the pure humans and lead them to victory over the mutant hordes.

Discovery: 10th. Foresaw our arrival psychically and pledged himself to the Imperium. Tribal warriors joined the growing IX Legion. Gene-Seed mutation eventually discovered and hide.

Capabilities: Arguably the greatest success among the Primarchs. Peak Martial, Strategic, and Diplomatic skills. Charismatic and well liked virtually all. Possessed Precognitive and other psychic abilities used to further enhance his capabilities.

Legion: Blood Angels- Skilled Shock Troopers who battle a Chaos born Gene-Defect designed to cripple them and there Primarch. Patrons of the art and known for a mix of noble countenance and surprisingly brutal martial skill.

Heresy: Loyal- Part of the Triumvirate of Imperium Secundus but managed to make it to Terra before the Siege. Defended the Gates of the Imperial Palace against entire Legions worth of assaulters including Daemon Primarchs.

Fate: Died facing XVI aboard his flagship during the final assault. Psychic backlash affected his sons with a new Gene-Curse and forcibly gave us our Humanity back for a split second. Considered a Martyr among the Imperium and his legion one of the finest.

Conclusion: Extreme Success- Overcame multiple attempts by Chaos to corrupt or weaken him. Extremely Loyal and capable. Proof of concept for the Primarch Project, and a Paragon of human potential. Psychic Shards still active and useful as extensions of our will.

* * *

Primarch: X Ferrus Manus

Foster World: Medusa- Feral Death world that was once a Pre-Age of Strife research center. Nomad tribes wandered the world trying to survive the various experiments and rogue technology loose on the world. X's arrival awoke one of the worst. A Warmachine created from reverse engineered Yngir technology.

Discovery: 4th After slaying the Yngir Prototype he began to lead the tribes and work to advance their technology. When rediscovered we bested him in single combat to gain his allegiance. Tribal warriors joined his legion.

Capabilities: Physically strong and a master smith. X prized physical and mental strength over all else. Sought to improve himself and the human species through technological and societal evolution. Known to be stern and blunt.

Legion: Iron Hands- Heavily mechanized with a heavy reliance on bionic to an unhealthy level. Advanced technology combined with unbending discipline allowed them to gain many victories. Bionic obsession increased after X's demise and a belief that organic life is inherently weak.

Heresy: Loyal- Killed early on at the dropsite massacre, by III his best friend. His legion was shattered and leaderless for most of the Heresy, unable to act serve properly due to the psychological backlash of X's death.

Fate: Slain with his remains desecrated by both Chaos and Imperial forces. Soul unified with us and acts as leader of the Legion of the Damned.

Conclusion: Semi-Successful- Very useful during the Great Crusade and helped rediscover and reinvent various technologies. Killed early on in the Heresy due to allowing his own emotions get the better of him. Did not reach his full quite considerable potential due to that error.


	9. Chapter 8: Thunder from Bellow

Chapter Eight: Thunder from Below

Terra's atmosphere had been ravaged, repaired, and ravaged again throughout the Millennia. Yet even the polluted irradiated sky of the Age of Strife possessed the ability to create a particular phenomenon that had frightened and enchanted Humans for as long as the species has existed: Thunderstorms.

One of these storms raged over The Caucasus Wastes of Terra. Bolts of lighting crashed against the nation-sized forcefield that sheltered the domain of the Ethnarchy. Countless armies both Imperial and otherwise had been broken trying to crack open the Hollow Mountains of the Ethnarch. Yet the Imperium of Man would not be dissuaded and now the full might of the greatest power on Terra was arrayed against the Ethnarchy.

It was at this precipice of war that Arik Taranis and the last of the Thunder Legions arrived. Exiting his transport Arik looked to the sky just as a blast of lightning illuminated the night sky.

"How perfectly proper" the Ancient Thunder Warrior quietly mused as literal lighting bolts of unification erupted overhead the last obstacle for Terran unity. Gesturing to his command squad to follow him Taranis headed towards the command bunker at the center of the impromptu base. Bracing himself psychologically the Gene-Wrought Giant prepared to meet with his Creator and Liege. Despite hundreds, if not thousands of meetings with the Emperor first contact still rattled the old warrior. The Emperor did not disappoint and the sheer mental impact of his presence was enough to throw the jaded warriors off kilter for a moment.

Arik recovered from the bombardment of stimuli first and was the first to kneel before the Emperor of Mankind, who stood before a hololithic table discussing strategy and plans with his various generals. It has been months since the Emperor had served on the frontlines worrisome rumors had begun to sprout about his disappearance. Looking up from the display the Emperor acknowledged the Thunder Warriors, allowing them to stand.

Moving to speak with his Champion among the Thunder Legions the Emperor saw glimpses of a possible future as he looked into the face of Taranis.

*The Thunder Warriors butchering thousands easily on the fields of Franc till the ground had turned into a lake of blood.*

*Psychotic rage leaving the faces of the survivors of Mount Ararat as they realized there time had come*

*A handful of the tortured broken warriors scattered to the wind as there bodies and minds fractured under their own might*

*Sons of Traitors encountering the Lighting Bearer deep within Terra, his body and face a mass of scars and cancerous lesions. Ruined armor clinging to his titanic bulk as he sat upon a throne of scrap ruling over a kingdom of filth*

Placing his hand upon Arik Taranis's shoulder the Emperor spoke softly to his rapidly breaking prototype: "The time has come Arik. The time for the final war of the Thunder Legions." The somber sadness that marred the Emperor's perfect visage surprised Arik more than the knowledge that came with it. He had expected the end to come in a brutal cull or being locked away and rot. Not in a simple yet cruelly kind opportunity to do what they had been built for.

Taranis knew the end was coming, he had expected this order ever since the first of his sons had died from his own body ripping itself apart. Every time a Thunder Warrior lost any semblance of sanity and butchered allies and civilians or when an Apothecary opened up an ailing Warrior and found his body to be nought but a mess of tumors. The Emperor's blade edged closer to the necks of himself and his soldiers.

The saga of the Thunder Legions was ending and The age of strife was at its close. They had been built to usher out that era of insanity and barbarism yet they were as much part of it as the countless monsters and madman that they had battled. Now they would do their duty and crush the last shadow of ancient horrors dwelling within humanities cradle.

Mission data and tactical assessments poured from the generals and strategists of the Emperor's inner circle into the Thunder Legion Officers as did new equipment born of both Terrawat and Martian technology into the hands of there soldiers. They were to burrow beneath the surface of Terra to reach the mythical source of the Ethnarchies power: The Tempest Galleries

Millions of Soldiers kept up the offensive on barrier, artillery rained day and night in a non stop barrage designed not just to simply weaken the void shield but distract the defenders from the true assault. Armored in upgraded power armor and wielding a menagerie of powerful weapons the Thunder Legions were ready to strike. 25,000 Warriors, The last five Stormhosts had been assembled under Arik Taranis and were ready to bring the Emperor's wrath upon any and all who would stand against them.

There transports to the subterranean Tempest Galleries were reverse-engineered Martian vehicles called Termites. Massive burrowing ships built to survive the most punishing environments in the known universe. Ghota, Taranis's second: looked skeptically at the collection of vessels all primed to pierce Terra's crust and let out a sound that was a mix of a growl and a groan. Over a secure vox with his Commander, he expressed his concern.

"Sir, you know as well as I do that at least a tenth of our forces is teetering on the brink. Is there any other option than cramming us into those half-finished rust buckets and hoping half our army does not go insane or literally rip itself apart?" Barely reacting to his Equerry's worries Arik simply said "There are contingencies in place"

Hoping he was not bluffing Ghota shrugged his shoulders and took his place in one of the Restraint mounts within the lead Termite. The old Thunder Warrior noted that the design of the seats seemed similar to various dropships and grimaced at the irony of a Thunder Warrior: Storm Incarnate, Conqueror of the Heavens and master of the Deep Strike meeting his end below the world's surface in some bizarre parody of a tactical insertion.

Buckling in and plugging his armor into the surrounding machinery, Ghota's eyes suddenly felt heavy, looking around frantically he saw his Battle-Brothers slumping into there restraints one after another and he could feel his mind fading. Swearing in countless Terran tongues he frantically tried to break free. Looking up to where he had last scene Taranis he saw the legendary warrior sitting casually and unaffected, watching his sons passing out. Realization dawned upon Ghota, this was the contingency. With those final thoughts he passed out.

:Thirteen Hours Later and 37 Kilometers beneath Terras Surface:

Ghota awoke to screaming alarms and the deep thudding of Bolter-fire. As he groggily struggled out of his restraints three things hit him at once. First, even with his advanced armors climate systems, he felt as if he was boiling alive. Second, a drug cocktail had been added to his usual pre-battle enhancers that knocked him and his Battle-Brothers out. Thirdly data feeds and tactical information was streaming into his helmet.

Freeing himself he scanned his surroundings, He was the first to awaken in his termite. The rest of the First Five Retinues were steadily awakening. Yet Arik Taranis and his Praetorian Squad were missing. Confused and Disoriented Ghota begin to absorb the data pouring into his helm. Of the 50 termites that had been deployed seven had been lost on the descent, either to environmental stress or defense measures.

The Termites each carried 500 Thunder Warriors and had surfaced seemingly at random into the Tempest Galleries Lower Depths. They were at the border between the planet's crust and mantle.

Orders then came to Ghota telling him to rally the Retinue Squads around him and advance to a location approximately 5 klicks from there location. Settling into the mindset of a commander Ghota began to rally and rouse the various Thunder Warriors. Five squads of humanities finest warriors were prepped and prepared to exit their craft into whatever hell awaited them.

Even though the Termites hull built to withstand swimming in seas of lava they could hear the noises of battle. Weapon Fire, tearing metal and near constant explosions. Unsealing the Blast-Ports the Thunder Warriors exited the Craft roaring with the fury of the Emperor made manifest.

Their termite had punctured the cavern floor and the Blast-Ports allowed them to clamber down upon the obsidian chamber. The realm they had arrived in was a truly insane esoteric domain that brought to mind classical images of Hell from Old Earth religions.

Lava poured out of the chamber floor and flowed upwards in a parody of a waterfall. Great rivers of molten metal floated above them, suspended and manipulated by colossal electromagnetic Spindles. Bolts of lighting and billowing clouds of energized atmosphere formed a colossal storm, a never-ending Hellish Tempest for which the Caverns were named for.

Yet the sight that caught the eyes of the Thunder Warriors most was the battle being waged across the titanic cavern. Thousands of Warriors battled swarms of horrific arachnoid machines. They outclassed the Thunder Warriors in both size and numbers. Ghota looked on in shock as volleys of Plasma, Melta and Volkite rounds had basically no effect upon the Machines as they charged into the Thunder Warrior lines and butchered them with brutal mining implements.

In Response, a squad of Thunder Warrior wielding thunder hammers smashed into the offending machines. With superhuman blows that were comparable to artillery strikes, the Retributors pushed back the machines all while letting out psychotic roars of fury.

Ghotas troops all moved to join the battle but they had orders elsewhere. Barking orders Ghota managed to lead his squadron away from the fight towards there rendezvous point. Looking back he watched more and more of the battling Thunder Warriors break either physically or mentally from the stress of battle. Some dropped there weapons and charged ferally into battle while others simply slumped over mid-fight.

The Thunder Warriors ducked into a smaller capillary tunnel that Grav-Scans indicated would lead them towards the center of the Galleries. The new armor helped them navigate the polished tunnel that had been bored out of the earth with molten steel. Despite there attempts to be subtle they met resistance. A small patrol swarm of Tempest-Machines attacked. Ghota brought his Thunder Hammer and Storm Shield to bear while barking orders to his Battle-Brothers: "Solid projectiles only, aim for the joints. Paladins with me! Justicars cover us!"

Ghota roared with transhuman fury as he smashed into the first line of the Tempest Machines. His fellow Thunder Warriors followed suit with Chain-Weapons, Power-Axes, and Thunder Hammers. Blow after blow rained down on the Machines, shattering there hardy internal components and buckling exoskeletons designed to swim in lava.

Some machines tried to climb along the tunnel walls to pincer the Paladins but the Justicars reigned death with Penetrator Bolt-Rounds preventing any such attempts to buckle the front line of warriors. Unlike the ailing berserkers in the main cavern, these squads were composed of the elite of the Thunder Legions. Warriors who had faced the worst horrors of the Age of Strife and won.

Yet even these elites could feel their bodies wearing under the stress of battle. Ghota thought to himself as he barely dodged a Machines mono-molecular appendage blade "This used to be so much easier"

After the brief firefight concluded the Thunder Warriors advanced. They had lost five warriors, their gear had been salvaged and they had been given Honored Deaths. Marching forward they stormed the tunnels. Eventually, after a few hours of navigating the volcanic Labrinth and tunnel skirmishes, they reached their destination.

A grand chamber carved from Adamantium and inlaid with Obsidian stood before them. Ten tunnels lead into the chamber each turning into a silicate bridges that were suspended over a pool of molten metal that served as the chamber's floor. Ghota cautiously lead his Battle-Brothers towards the center of the chamber where the ten bridges intersected. As they neared it a deep rumbling growl echoed throughout the Chamber.

In an explosion of Lava and lighting something colossal breached the Pools surface. Easily the size of a Titan its Black-Diamond scales shimmered and its mechanical opened letting forth a horrific roar. Deep within the bowels of the Old Earth, they had encountered a machine built to emulate the archetypal monster: The Dragon.

As one the Thunder Warriors leveled their weapons and open fire on the Wyrm. The Machine returned the favor with blasts of superheated plasma and metal that atomotized any Warrior unlucky enough to be hit. It's serpentine body wrapped around one of the bridges seeking to crush the scattering Warriors. Ghota bellowed commands as he internally cursed himself. He had followed the orders to leave the breaking and broken Warriors to there doom so they would act as a distraction while they headed to the inner core of the Galleries. Why had they been brought into this Trap?

Suddenly a war-cry comparable in both volume and fury to the Dragons roar pierced the Chamber. Arriving from the opposite tunnel Arik Taranis: the Throne Slayer alongside his Praetorians had arrived. With a Paragon-Blade handcrafted by the Emperor himself in one hand and a Thunder Hammer in the other Taranis leaped at the beast. Moving with speed and skill unrivaled except for Valdor and the Emperor himself Taranis Jumped off the bridge onto the Dragon.

Using his Blade as a parody of a Climbing-Spike he scrambled up the Machines side, leaving deep gouges in its exoskeleton as he went. The Lord of the Thunder Warriors shouted over the Vox for his forces to open fire at the Machines sensors. Obliging there Commanders will Ghota and the Praetorians emptied countless rounds into the Wyrms eyes and face. In response it attacked more violently, pulverizing entire squads of Thunder Warriors with a single lash of its tail.

Undeterred Arik Taranis proved his mettle as Champion of the Emperor by reaching the Machines head. Slashing its left sensors and leaving his blade stuck within its glassen eye he propelled himself to stand between the creatures horns. Roaring with the fury of a Storm-God of ancient Myth he brought the Thunder Hammer down upon the beasts mechanical skull.

With a blow that would have shattered a mountain-range, he split open the Volcanic Dragons skull. Imploding its Silicon based brain and shattering most of its internal machinery. The Chamber shook with the blow and cracks spread across the Adamantium walls. Leading out a death howl the Dragon began to slump over. Arik Taranis dislodged his Sword from the monster's corpse and rode its collapse onto one of the bridges.

Stepping off the corpse onto the Bridges without making even note of the impossible feat he had just done Arik Taranis checked his Helms display and lead his Sons out of the Dragons Lair, and into the Inner Sanctum of the Master of the Galleries.

Ghota caught up with his Commander and simply asked "This is it isn't? The Final Mission?" Instead of responding Arik turned to the 300 or so remaining Thunder-Warriors and spoke:

"My Sons, we have long known our end was nigh. We have served the Emperor valiantly in the quest for unification but we were not built to conquer the Stars nor protect humanity as its finest soldiers. Nay, we were forged to destroy and crush the worst of the Old Night as Warriors! We are dying, all of us and our Emperor has given us an opportunity. The Opportunity to not go out as deceased weaklings, but as Warriors!"

This truth dawned on them and as one the last of the Thunder Legions roared in triumph and celebration. Together they marched into the center of the Tempest galleries. The Dragon had been the last line of defense for there foe, now a simple pair of Adamantium-Alloy doors stood before them. Arik turned to his advisor and Equerry and said: "Ghota, would you do the honors?" A deep animal grim split Ghotas face as replied "gladly sir" He charged the doors and with all his might he smashed them open with a titanic blow of his Thunder-Hammer.

Before them stood a titanic Machine. An impossibly advanced Abominable Intelligence that screamed in binary for its guardians and caretakers to return to it. Arik has slain numerous such monsters throughout the unification wars and he knew the simplest way to. Casually as if he was tossing an empty nutrient canister into disposal he lobbed a collection of Vortex Grenades into the Chamber.

The Warp opened up and swallowed the colossal machine. With the maestro of the Galleries gone they started to collapse almost instantly. Machines that had functioned perfectly for millennia ground to a stop and started to buckle. Service and Defense Machines stopped mid-movement and collapsed like puppets with there strings cut.

As soon as they had confirmed the A.I.'s destruction the Thunder Warriors began there retreat. Entire Chambers began to collapse around them as more and more of the ancient complex buckled under the fury of Terra's core. They moved with superhuman speed, back towards the termites. Giving honorable deaths to the wounded so they would not slow them down.

At last, they reached one of the operational vehicles and the Thunder Warriors entered there only escape. Frantically they tried to start the damaged machine and after a few horrifying seconds were the chamber began to buckle around them and the Cogitator responded. Using pre-programmed orders the Termites automatically burrowed out of the chamber and headed for the surface.

Once they seemed well on their way and the horrors and insanity of the Tempest galleries were kilometers behind them Ghota sat beside Arik and asked: "Where were you when I awoke?" Removing his helmet the ancient warrior looked at his second with tired eyes as he spoke: "I needed to make arrangements, Those who were already falling apart needed to be put down less they endanger us all and those who were closest to the brink needed to be arranged so even if they went mad during the battle they would do their duty."

Looking out at the Thunder Warriors surrounding him he continued "Even the selected few to carry out the mission are at risk. Keep an eye out on the trip home Ghota, we are not safe yet." The Thunder Warriors removed their armor and began to socialize. Telling stories and comparing records of battles and tales. Hours ticked by and for a tragically brief period of time the Warriors enjoyed the camaraderie and companionship afforded only too brothers in arms.

Sadly such solace was not to last. Tragedy struck when Decimator Baktash begins to tell a story of how he had been part of the frontline charge with Gardus Steelsoul against the Cyber-Thralls of the Droog-Lord. "There we were, all Five thousand of us against the rotten bastards when...when...when" Baktash's eyes glazed over and for a split second the sheer weight of the horrors he had seen and perpetrated crashed into his decaying mind. He let loose a pained howl and lept at one of his brothers.

Baktash sunk his fingers into the eyes of one of his closest comrades and bit open the main artery of his squad's officer before he was put down. Within the relatively cramped chamber, the stink of blood and battle-hormones was thick. A painful silence filled the Termite before another Thunder Warrior began to shake with hallucinations of long distant foes. He was put down almost instantly and the smell of blood and sight of the dead began to worm its way into the minds of the Thunder Warriors.

For another hour tense silence and fear cast a pall over the surviving Thunder Warriors. The quite was broken by the ugly sound of breaking bones. A Warrior fell to his knee as his left tibia and fibula shattered funder the power of his own tensed muscle. That proved to be the final straw.

Carnage erupted as half-mad berserkers lept at their brothers who could feel the same madness creeping into their minds as they fought off there deranged former friends and Battle-Brothers. Arik and Ghota were back to back as veterans of the Unification Wars butchered each other in a wholesale slaughter brought on by disease and trauma.

It was a gruesome melee, there weapons and armor were locked away so the battle was conducted with hands, feet, and teeth. Ghota screamed with futile rage as he crushed one of his Squad Mates skulls all while impotently begging him to regain some semblance of sanity. Arik kept calm simply saying over and over "this would be a good death" as he slaughtered his Sons. Yet after nearly an hour of feral combat, all that was left in the Termite alive was Arik covered head to toe in his Gene-Sons blood and a wounded Ghota slumped against the wall. Speaking more to himself than Ghota or the corpse that pooled around them Arik softly said "But not good enough"

Ghota patched himself up with the medical supplies available and watched Arik carefully. After a bit, Ghota asked, "Why am I still alive." He had watched the carnage and madness overtake his Brothers but it had not claimed him. Shrugging his soldiers Taranis responded: "Luck of the draw, one in a billion odds of being especially compatible with the Augments."

Ghota had never inquired much about his Commanders past and history, that was not his duty but he decided there was nothing to lose and asked. "So you're like me a one in a billion?" Looking back at Ghota Arik wore as quizzical look. "I figured you were smarter than that and would have figured it out in all these long years." In a display of sudden surprising rage, he ripped off his breastplate to show Ghota the mark tattooed over his heart. It was barely visible beneath the pattern of scars on his chest. It was the Gothic Numeral for Zero within a twin headed bird of prey.

In a voice that was a mix of anger and strangely pride, he spoke of his creation and purpose. "I was crafted by the Emperor himself as the First of the Thunder Legions, and Gene-Sire of them. The prototype for his true-born creations and doomed to die along with my sons thanks to being an unfinished thing." Throwing his battered plumed helm to the floor the gigantic warrior collapsed next to Ghota and continued. " I was sworn to secrecy, to never tell the fate I knew was mine for I had a duty to do."

Stunned Ghota asked "Then why are you telling me this? If the Emperor himself swore you to secrecy then why?" A Cruel smirk appeared on Ariks lips "Cause Frak him and his scheming manipulative egotistical ways."Ghota was still stunned at the plainly treacherous words and before another word could be said Arik started to laugh. A deep growling noise that seemed impossibly at odds at the scene of blood and carnage surrounding them.

"I have waited literal centuries to say that damn sentence Ghota. CENTURIES! The Emperor of Mankind is an egotistical manipulative control freak who spends lives like currency and subtly controls everything around him. Yet the worst part, the absolute worst part of the Grox-plowing bastard is he is right. What he does is the best damn way forward and he knows it." With those words, Arik Taranis: The Throne Slayer admitted the truth of his Master.

Eight hours later at a Dormant Volcano near Klostzatz the Termite broke the surface. It was quickly detected by Imperial Scouts who had been waiting for it. The message made its way back to the dying battlefields of the Caucasus Wastes, where the Imperium was finishing off the last remnants of the Ethnarchy. The Emperor had just finished overseeing the transport of the Ethnarch himself to Khangba Marwu when the message arrived.

Flanked by Custodians, Remembrancer and various hangers on the Emperor arrived at the sight of the surfaced Termite. Soon after they did The main Blast-Port opened up and Twin figures clambered out. Arik with Ghota slung over his shoulder. Slowly they approached the Emperor. A cluster of medics swarmed Ghota looking to patch up the wounded Warrior. Ensuring his Equerry was in good hands Arik Taranis walked up to the Emperor.

Creator and Creation stared at each other for a solid second before Arik struck the Master of Mankind with a punch that would have cracked open a main battle tank. It mildly fazed the Emperor and before even Taranis's transhuman senses could detect twelve guardian spears hovered above his vital spots. To that Arik simply gruffly shouted, "Fine then, do it!"

The Custodes almost obliged before the Emperor stopped them. In a voice filled with somber aloofness, the Emperor spoke to the Ur-Primarch. "No Arik, the Thunder Legions war may be over but you still have a role to play."

(A.N. Sorry that took so long, I didn't want to cut corners on this one and it was also my first real attempt at "Bolter-Porn" I hope you all enjoy!)


	10. Chapter 9: The Last Temple

**Chapter Nine: The First Temple**

Uriah Olathaire was old, not just physically but mentally and spiritually. he could feel the weight of the years in his bones and upon his soul. Ironically he had not lived as many years as some and was just entering the second half of his life. Yet the years he had spent alive were especially harsh ones. Wars had been fought, families lost, homes burned and ways of life driving to extinction.

These thoughts occupied the old Priest of the Church of the Lighting Stone as he extinguished candles and cleaned the old place of worship. Uriah had joined the creed as a young man and had watched as his congregation had shrunk with each passing year. The Emperor's "truth" saw to that. Religion had been declared the enemy, a source of woes and misery. Every Month new reports came in of great Cathedrals and Temples being looted, converted and torn down.

Horror stories of clerics and Cardinals being dragged away into the night persisted, with many religious sights becoming abandoned due to their clergy fleeing the Emperor's minions. Some of Uriah's more devout partitioners had asked and even begged to help him flee the purges. He had turned each and every one of them down. Telling each that "I have lived for this church and if need be I will die for this church"

Eventually even those most devout had stopped coming, the past few weeks Uriah had been alone in the ancient building. With nothing but the crashing of the seas waves and ancient scripture for company. Letting out a deep sigh the Old Priest went to lock the great oaken doors of the building. Right as he approached them a knock sounded at the door.

Sighing to himself Uriah went to the door, wondering who could have come calling at this late hour. The doors swing open and a man stood before Uriah. Clothed in the uniform of an Imperial Officer the raven-haired man struck an imposing figure. The Man looked into Uriah's eyes and the Priest had the unpleasant sensation that he was being studied like a scientific specimen being prepared for dissection. A subconscious shiver ran up Uriah's spine at the thought.

The strange man reached out his hand to shake Uriah's and spoke: "You are Father Uriah Olathaire: Priest of the Lighting Stone Church correct?" Refocusing and shaking off the momentary anxiety Uriah took the strangers hand and spoke: "Yes, and you are?" "You can simply call me Revelation." Uriah scoffed at that "How ominous, what can this old priest help you with Revelation?"

A momentary pained expression crossed the Strangers face before he continued "I seek your counsel." Revelations inflection stunk of disdain, and he was obviously disgusted with the idea. Uriah had seen pride and ego of countless varieties throughout his tenure and he could easily recognize the signs of a man who detested asking for help. A kind smile appeared on the priests face and he spoke "Of course my son. Come in, come in!."

Uriah led the man toward the pews and noticed the Stranger examining the various frescoes and paintings that adorned the Church. Uriah smiled, the art of the church had long been something he had enjoyed and loved sharing with worshippers. Revelation pointed at a trinity of paintings that took up one of the walls "Isandula Verona's work? I have not seen some of hers in many years"

Uriah's face brightened "It's been decades since someone recognized her work. One of my predecessors was gifted that piece after she attended one of his sermons" The three paintings showed iconic scenes from the Church's creed. The first depicted nude figures within a utopian garden. The Second an epic duel between a Golden Knight and a Silver Dragon, and the last showed a being made of light surrounded by a mechanical halo.

The Stranger continued to state for a minute before he turned to the priest and spoke: "Do you know what has been the fate of the grand churches and temples of Terra?" Uriah eyed Revelations uniform and begin to wonder if this visit was more sinister in nature than he originally thought. The Old Priest sighed and spoke "Yes, they have been destroyed by the Emperor and his legions. Is that why you have come? To destroy my Church like all the others have been?" At that Revelations eyes seemed to lose all emotion and he spoke: "Yes, but your council is required as well."

Revelation walked up to the altar and continued speaking "Do you know how many Churches exist on Terra? How many Priests are left?" Barely processing the news of his impending eviction and possible execution Uriah spoke "A few hundred? A few thousand? Your Master has been through in his mission from what I hear." At that, a snort of derision escaped Revelation "Only one of each remain." He gestured to Uriah and the building they were in "The Last Church and the Last Priest of Terra"

Uriah felt like a hammer blow had come down on his forehead. Could he truly be the Last Priest? Could all traces of faith be scoured from Humanity's Cradle this easily? A mixture of grief and anger filled Uriah's heart. In a bitter voice, he spat "So what council could you possibly seek from me? You serve the regime that has more successfully extinguished the light of faith and salvation. What in the name Yeshua Crossed could you want from me?"

Bitterness filled Revelations face as he spoke "I want to know if I was wrong? I concluded that religion is a toxic dangerous thing a long time ago and time and again that conclusion has been reinforced by countless acts of insanity and zealotry I have witnessed." Rage filled Revelations face as he finished.

Letting out a defeated sigh he continued "Yet despite that, new evidence has come to light. Evidence that no matter what is done humanity will seek something or someone to worship and that faith can be used. Used to protect against the darkness."

Uriah had met many atheists, agnostics, and naysayers throughout his career. There reasoning and believes varied and it was not atypical for him to encounter those attempting to refute his faith or rekindle their own. Revelation seemed to be both but not quite. He spoke more like a scientist questioning results than a tortured soul seeking solace in their own convictions or faith.

Uriah slowly approached Revelation and spoke, "Tell me, my son, what has caused this change in your beliefs?" The Old Priest was not just doing his duty as a man of the cloth but genuine curiosity. The stranger who had entered his Church was obviously a high ranking member of the Imperium. Someone who should sneer at the idea of religion and laugh at the idea that it was more than a narcotic for the masses. Yet shadows of doubt encircled Revelation and a curious thought occurred to Uriah.

This stranger spoke with such authority and without fear. Someone of his position should be terrified of being discovered anywhere near a place of worship not being sacked, let alone asking a Priest for advice. Obviously, Revelation was a person of great power and authority. Could his arrival be a sign from the Heavens that maybe the flames of faith were not yet doomed to be extinguished?

Revelation spoke to Uriah in a hushed whisper: "I saw something, a vision." At this Uriah raised an eyebrow, such things were the domain of prophets and seers. Many of whom had been put to death by the Imperium. "What did you see my child?" "I saw a future where the Emperor is worshipped as a god, where everything he stands for is perverted into a colossal theocratic nightmare where trillions of screaming fanatics live and die underneath the rule of the Immortal God Emperor of Mankind."

The words seemed to physically pain Revelation to speak but he continued. "But the worst of it, the worst aspect of that nightmarish future where hope, reason, and logic were butchered in the name of dogma, zealotry, and oppression was that it worked. Humanity was truly united under the "Imperial Creed." Faith protected against horrors beyond imagination, it fueled heroic acts and empowered the loyalist of mankind."

Revelation seemed to sag underneath some invisible burden and he slumped onto the front pew. The ancient wood groaned as if a dozen men had sat down instead of one. Uriah sat next to his guest and said softly "I am no prophet nor psyker but I could predict such a vision perfectly." The Priest gestured around them as he spoke "Humanity has sought to believe in a higher power for as long as we have existed. Believe offers both protection and answers to countless questions. It grants solace and if that solace is denied the yearning for it becomes simply greater."

At that Revelation snapped "Yet I have given them exactly that. Protection from every evil and abomination to stalk the shadows. The Arts and Sciences are slowly returning to there former greatness to answer questions of both material and immaterial nature." A mixture of fury and questioning worry filled Revelations eyes. Uriah confused by the strange wording of Revelations outburst looked into his eyes, and was shocked at what he saw. Revelation looked no older than Forty standard years but his eyes were those of an ancient. Filled with centuries if not millennia of pain and knowledge.

Realization and shock filled the Old Priest as the truth dawned on him. The realization of his guest's identity. The Emperor of Mankind had come to seek his counsel. Rumors had abounded for years about the age and nature of the mysterious conqueror of Terra. The man who was equal parts Tyrannical overlord and Benevolent Leader.

Taking a deep breath Uriah gathered himself and continued "Even if you offer alternatives to what religion offers and show the world all that is negative about it people will still desire it. Religion and Faith are as old as humanity, even during the heights of the Golden Age it still existed when nearly every evil and darkness in our species had been eradicated. It is not an evil thing, but just as corruptible as so much else of being human. Humanity needs to believe in a higher power and denying that will only lead to ruin."

The Emperor-in-disguise looked at Uriah and sadness filled his voice: "You know who I am, I saw it within your mind when you realized the truth. No need to hide it, Uriah." Shutting his ancient eyes the Emperor continued "You are wrong about one thing for certain, religion is not as old as humanity. I have lived for close to Fifty Thousand Years and I remember when the first cults and tribal religions rose." Slowly standing the Emperor walked up to the altar and stood at it like an expectant worshiper "And the idea that religion is a constant is also wrong. I am responsible for its creation and it's only fitting I am responsible for its destruction.

Stunned silence filled the Church as Uriah processed the claim. Speaking softly the priest asked in a tone that was both incredulous and horrified "Do you mean to say you founded my faith? That you founded humanities great religions and you see it as your duty to destroy them?" A part of Uriah, a very large part wanted to dismiss the stranger's claims. To say he was a madman, a tyrant not an immortal who had walked the ages.

Yet something stopped Uriah, some instinctive feeling, some deep set ancestral memory locked within the human species. The mark on the human psyche left by the Emperor. Thousands of cultures throughout all of human history had tales of Mysterious Immortals, Wandering Gods, and Superhuman Monarchs. Every legend starts with a kernel of truth and something within Uriah told him the source of a million myths sat before him.

The Emperor let out a bitter laugh at Uriah's question. "Yes, countless religions have sprung up in my footsteps. Sometimes intentionally sometimes not, but my sin is greater than inspiring a stray cult whenever I needed to take action. Humanities desire, no, need for a higher power to worship and follow is my fault."

Moving faster than the Priest could process The Emperor stood next to him and placed his palm on Uriah's forehead. Before anything could leave his lips golden light crashed into Uriah's mind and everything went white.

A Voice filled with power and wisdom echoed in Uriah's mind as he drifted through a psychically created void " **What is a god?"** Trying to get his bearings the stunned Uriah tried to speak: "G-G-God is the creator and ruler of the universe and source of all moral authority; the supreme being." A deep chuckle answered that and the voice continued " **That is the textbook description of the deity of your faith. I ask you not what your god is but what is a god?"**

After thinking for a second Uriah responded "Something powerful, something beyond humanity. A supernatural being that is worshipped." To that the voice seemed to consider the answer given before speaking " **Understandable, Many beings fit your description and have indeed been worshipped as gods throughout human history. Even so Uriah, would you consider these beings fit to worship?"** Reality shifted again and Uriah found himself transported between countless realities. Each more horrifying than the last.

* A Titanic silver monster, with wings that blotted out the Sun and eyes burning with horrid green energy sat in an ancient temple desert temple where thousands of ancient humans kneeled before it awaiting their turn to be consumed by the Dragon from between the Stars. *

* Millions of Soldiers wearing incredibly advanced armor battling Billions of lobotomized corpses puppeteered by a world-sized Abominable Intelligence*

*A Godly Hive Mind that tainted and twisted all it touched. Manipulating and creating entire worlds of mutated dredges that prayed for their inevitable consumption and assimilation.*

*Shimmering bioluminescent Xenos indoctrinating world after world into becoming enthralled slaves who served their masters every whim till they were drained into desiccated husks.*

*Things made of nightmares and madness slithering out of cracks in reality to corrupt and control those desperate enough to seek it*

These and countless more nightmarish visages appeared before Uriah. Each traumatizing and sickening the priest more than the last. For a moment the kaleidoscope of monsters stopped. The Emperor's Voice spoke again " **Each of those abominations has claimed godhood. Each used humanities addiction to the divine to feed itself and enslave us. I have battled many of them and intend to cut the yoke of faith away so it may never divide us nor be used by our enemies."**

Fighting off panic attacks and the urge to vomit Uriah managed to speak: "So that's your rationale? Humanity has been manipulated and controlled by countless things, why pick out Religion as your scapegoat and target of your ire?" The White Space rumbled with the sound of distant thunder as the Emperor responded: " **The god-things I showed you use faith as a mean to a end. That is not the case with the Greatest Foes, the only Foe that matters. They do not use faith to control or manipulate but to grow in power and tear down the barriers between the real and the insane"**

Four new visions appeared before Uriah at once. Four Storm of insanity and horror that swirled around him. Projections of a remembered vision muted for a mortals mind and still, they seethed with such corruption and cruelty that the Priest could feel it seeping into his very soul. Each of the monsters touched his soul. Leaving imprints of nightmares and all that is wrong with mortal kind upon his memory

The Hound Headed Bloody-Warrior showed visions of insanity and violence, where entire worlds were butchered in psychotic fury. A column of whispering smoke spoke of a trillion plots of betrayal and mutation. The unmistakable stench of rot filled Uriah's nostrils as a bloated corpse dribbled diseased poison disguised as love and acceptance. Last of the four was a vision of a great winged serpent that gorged itself upon its creators and sang a song of beauty and horror.

The quadra-fold monsters were each unique and horrible in their own way but Uriah recognized a similarity between all four. There Hunger, an unending painful hunger for more and more. Never content they each sought to corrupt and control everything they could. Uriah shuddered as he regained his surroundings and realized he had fallen to his knees within the Church. Looking up he saw the Emperor standing over him and he softly asked: "What were those...things?"

The Emperor looked off into the distant, ancient memories shrouding his mind as he spoke: "The Great Enemy, the Four great beings of the Immaterium. Each claims godhood and mastery over the universe but like all things with them, That is a lie. The Immaterium is a realm where thought is given form and reality is subject to force of will. Those four are the sins and failings of all life made sentient and malicious."

Uriah slowly got to his feet and spoke "So those things… they feed upon worship and you seek to eliminate religion in order to cripple them?" "Not quite, they do feed upon faith but not it alone. Every and all activities that fall under their purview feeds them, but worship is more effective. For example, the so-called "Architect of Fate" is empowered by every plan ever made, but cults of sorcerers worshipping and serving it are a far greater source of energy to glut itself"

Trying to rid his mind of the abominable sights and thoughts born of seeing the Four Uriah asked "So why then? If they are going to keep feeding why eliminate all religions?" To that, the Emperor quietly said: "Religion offers them an opening. If people pray to the gods they hope for an answer. What do you think happens when the Four listen and answer their prayers?" New visions then entered Uriah's mind to answer the Emperor's rhetorical questions.

*Entire Cities ripping themselves apart in sickening blood orgies.*

*Diseased Corpses rising from their graves to consume there friends and family.*

*Blasphemous rituals tearing open wounds upon reality allowing the substance of insanity to spill over the world in a tidal wave of damnation. *

Shuddering at the visions Uriah tried to stay standing, but his knees buckled finally under the psychological weight. The Emperor quickly caught the Priest and Uriah felt warm familiar energy enter his body and his legs could again support him. Still entranced by the saga being regaled to him Uriah asked the question that had been on his mind since before the visions the emperor had shown him. "You said humanities need for faith is your fault. What do you mean?"

A sadness darkened the Emperor's features as he summoned another vision to show Uriah. "You are the Last Priest of the Last Church of Terra. I have deemed it fitting for you to hear my confession. None know this tale, not even my closest advisors and friends. You being the Last Priest it seemed only right for you to hear the story of the First Temple.

With that Uriah found himself transported to an arid badlands. Sand and stone stretched as far as the eye could see. Uriah looked up and was shocked. The sky was impossibly blue, and Sol hung high in the clear sky. "Where are we?" asked Uriah, as the shock of seeing the sky hit him. Appearing next to him the Emperor responded: "Approximately thirty-five thousand years ago in a land, you know as the Achaemenid Empire."

As the Emperor spoke a lone figure appeared in the distance. The figure approached them and adjusted its ragged robes and Uriah saw its face. The Priest did a double take at the sight. The strange traveler was the Emperor, a younger barely two-decade-old Emperor by the look of it. Uriah pointed at the doppelganger and the Emperor explained before Uriah could say anything.

"We are viewing my memories of this age. We are invisible witnesses to this saga of my youth." the twin watchers of the memory followed the young Emperor through the Desert. They trudged for miles as the Emperor of the present spoke: "In my youth, I wandered Terra spreading knowledge and wisdom to the ancient tribes and early civilizations. Nothing to major just slight nudges to help technological and philosophical development."

"I tried to never get too involved, not to let any group become reliant on my presence. My purpose has always been to guide and protect, humanity cannot be allowed to rely on me for it will weaken them." Uriah raised an eyebrow at that and asked "Then why are you seeking to conquer and control humanity as its "Emperor?" A pained look crossed his face: "Despite what you and many others might think I have no desire to rule. If there was another option than the Imperium, I would take it."

They crested a hill with the memory-form of the Emperor and before them nestled on the shore of a great sea was an ancient city. They and the memory-form stopped and admired the primitive metropolis. The Emperor continued his narration: "I had not visited this city in about two and a half centuries. Last time I was here I helped treat a minor viral outbreak and explained a bit of basic hygiene. I had done similar across the world and thought nothing of it. So when I returned to this city nestled on the shore of the Salt Sea I was horrified by what I found"

They followed the Memory-Form towards the city. Great processions of carts and beasts of burden carried goods towards the city gates. Each was stopped and tolled by a patrol of thuggish looking guards. The Ancient Emperor joined the line and eventually reached the gates. The Guards looked the shabby robed ancient up and down. "Leave vagabond, we have no need for your kind here." The Ancient Emperor raised an eyebrow and began to motion with his hand before a voice popped up from behind him.

"Uncle Ivram so that's where you wandered off to!" A well-clothed man from the line approached and touched the Ancients shoulder. Calmly the man spoke to the guards: "So sorry for that, my Uncle wandered away from the caravan." Pulling the Ancient Emperor away and directing him back to his family and servants the man continued in a whisper "He is not quite right in the head, but I promised my father I would look after him" The Guards grunted something in return.

Uriah and the Emperor followed the generous man and the Ancient. The Ancient Emperor quietly asked the stranger "Why did you do this for me?" The man shrugged his shoulders "Kindness begets kindness, you are obviously not from around hear and it would be wrong to leave you out in the wilderness, especially on the day of the festival!" The Ancient shook the man's hand and asked "A festival? It seems I am just in time. You can call me Revelation by the way."

When the Ancient spoke his name Uriah swore he heard a thousand different words and names. Before he could ask the Emperor answered: "People have long been curious about what my name is, never considering that Revelation is not an alias but how the human mind interrupts and translates it." The man unlike Uriah had a few hours or lifetimes ago did not respond to the strange name and simply said "Nice to meet you Revelation, I am Lot Ur-Haran. You are just in time for the festival of the Four. It's our greatest event that celebrates the cities salvation by the gods!"

The Ancient then followed Lot and spoke with him and his family as they moved up the line with there farm goods they sought to sell. The Emperor began to speak as they followed the group. "At this point, small tribal faiths and city-state religions were not uncommon. Typically they worshipped nature in some form or another and my visions forecasted they would eventually die out as science and reason grew to explain the unexplainable."

The Ancient and Lots family finally entered the city and were soon greeted with the sound of great drums. Rhythms and song filled the entire city in a barely organized cacophony. The ramshackle streets were crowded with thousands. The Merchants and farmers peeled off from the line heading to various parts of the city to sell their goods. The Ancient simply followed Lot and watched. This was the largest city he had visited and marveled at the metropolis. Humanity was truly growing and preparing itself for its destiny.

Eventually, the Ancient thanked Lot and split off from his entourage of family and servants to explore the city. For hours he wandered and was both entranced and worried by what he saw. Great Kilns crafted pottery that was intricate in detail but grotesque in what it depicted. Scenes of bloodshed and debauchery were carved and stenciled upon them. Filth encrusted beggars wandered the streets pleading for spare food or currency, each seemed more broken and diseased then the last.

Eventually the Ancient heard the roar of a crowd above the cities other din and investigated as Uriah and the Emperor followed. Even though the dense scents of the city the Ancient could smell the distinct tang of blood in the air coming from the same place as the crowds shouting. Eventually the Ancient found the source. Dug out of the earth was a crude pit where hundreds of dredges clamoured at its edge to get a better view of its occupants.

With a slight bit of psychic suggestion, the Ancient pushed past the crowd and felt a cold fury fill him at the sight that awaited him. Two malnourished, manacled slaves savaged each other with crude bone blades as the crowd bayed for blood and gore. Shock filled the Ancients face as Uriah and the Emperor grimly looked on. Both of the observers had seen the worst of humanity during the Age of Strife and enslaved gladiators were just one of those horrors. Speaking softly the Emperor gestured to his younger self and said: "this was the first time such an act was witnessed by us, sadly not the last though…."

One of the slaves screamed with desperate rage and smashed his rivals skull into the stone wall of the pit over and over again. The losers blood and brains splattered out of the arena onto the cheering crowd as they chanted as one "MAIM KILL BURN! MAIM KILL BURN! MAIM KILL BURN!"

Disgusted and shook the Ancient quickly left the display and continued to wander the city. At each and every turn more atrocities met him. Horror and worry wormed deeper into the Ancient as he stumbled through the accursed city. What could have caused this? What was the source of this insanity?

Eventually, a familiar voice called to him "Oh good to see you again Revelation!" Lot along with his Wife and Daughters strode out of the crowd and greeted the Ancient. "The Grand ritual of the Festival is about to begin! Care to come with us to it?" Happy to see a friendly face the Ancient Emperor agreed.

Together they made it deeper and deeper into the heart of the city. Hear the drums and song was the loudest and the throngs of people become denser and denser. Eventually, they reached the Cities Great Ziggurat. Along with thousands of others, they ascended the Grand Staircase towards the highest point in the city. "What is this place?" asked the Ancient?

Seeming to puff up with pride Lot answered: "The Great Temple of the Four, my forefathers helped lay the first stones for our great altar to the Gods!" As they reached the top a great pyre was lit. Incense and smoke filled the air as the city crowded around the inner Temple. The Pyre marked the entrance to the temple and provided lighting and projected an aura of mystic upon the Grand Temple as the sunset.

Eventually, the Drumbeat increased in speed and it cued the thousands gathered to kneel as one before the pyre and Temple. Using a slight bit of warpcraft the Emperor stood standing while an illusion showed him kneeling like the rest. Uriah snorted at that "Pride is a constant I do believe with you." The Emperor responded with an icy stare.

The Drumbeat came to a climax and stopped. Out of the temple in extravagant apparel came the High Priest and his inner circle. The High Priest stood before the altar and spoke in a booming voice: "Generations ago our city was stuck with divine punishment for our Sin! Death and Doom stalked our lands and claimed whoever they liked. Countless wasted away and died under the weight of our blasphemy!"

The Ancients eyebrows shot up, was this how they remembered the plague? Then how would they his intervention? The Priest continued "Then the Stranger came! A prophet and Wiseman sent by the gods to lead us onto the path of righteousness! We were saved by his sacred wisdom and the gods in there eternal mercy spared us!"

In an incredible display of controlled psychic power, the Ancient used a mix of Psychometry, Precognition and his own intellect to see into the past of the city. Both he and his watchers witnessed how a few corrupt few had twisted the tale story over the generations to better suit their master's needs…

Something was obviously twisting this city and its people to its will. The Ancient had battled with Monsters and Nightmares from beyond this world or reality before but this was beyond anything he had seen. Except… except for a few whispered memories from his predecessors

The High Priest continued "Yet the Gods even with there mercy require assurance! The assurance that we will not fall into the old ways and fail this second chance! We sealed a covenant with the Four and we must prove our worthiness! We must sacrifice something precious to us in order to show our devotion!"

With that, a keening wail erupted from the temple. As one eight women, each carrying an infant approached the altar. Disbelieve shuddered through both the Ancient and Uriah. Could the High Priest really intend to….?

The Women, know the mothers wore different expressions. Some were ecstatic, religious fervor enthralling them. Others appeared gaunt and dead-eyed, unwilling to accept what was about to occur. Only one sobbed and shook with fear and horror as she clutched her wailing infant to her breast.

As one they stepped up to the Altar and were ordered to hold their infants above the blazing pyre. The High Priest Raised a Blade carved from bone above his head and roared a jubilation to the gods "Praise be to the Bloody Hound, The Rotting Toad, The Feathered Master of Schemes and the Serpent of Sin!" With that, he brought his blade down on his other hand letting blood splatter out. At that gruesome signal, the Mothers dropped there infants into the roaring flames.

Prayers of adulation poured from the worshippers as the babies burned alive. The enthralled masses lacked the Ancients superhuman senses and could not hear or smell… the sheer horror of what was occurring. The Ancient stood there his transhuman mine in shock at what he had just witnessed. Yet the atrocity was not yet over.

The weeping mother had not dropped her child and held it to her chest as she sobbed out desperate pleas for her child's life. With almost casual disdain the High Priest slit her throat and pushed her and the infant into the blaze. It was that action that ripped the Ancient Emperor from his stupor.

Time stood still for the Ancient and Uriah watched as reality slowed. Speaking with a mix of disgust and horror The Last Priest spoke: "Ah, so that's why you blame yourself for this?" With a voice as colder than nuclear winter, the Emperor responded: "Not exactly, the monsters of the Warp used my actions against me, but my sin is what occurs next."

Time returned to its proper flow and the Ancient cast down the illusion of him kneeling and stood alone among the worshippers. Before the High Priest could screech at him for his disrespect and demand his execution the Anathema's wrath was unleashed. Warpfyre concentrated into a burst of psychokinetic plasma shot forth from the Ancients Golden eyes in a blast of raw energy that the likes would not be seen on earth until the next Volcanic eruption.

Instantly the Temple the Priests and the Altar were reduced to there subatomic elements. The Corrupted may have died instantly but their souls were denied from their Masters by the Flame that consumed them agonizingly. The Innocents were spared such a fate and simply became sheltered within the Oversoul of the Anathema. Yet the Ancient had been an age and an attosecond late. The Infants and the sacrificed mother were cast into the jaws of the Thirsting Gods.

Golden light erupted from the Ancient. Uriah felt the energy wash over him and his legs buckled. It was rawer, more ferocious and lacking the kindness of when it had healed him but the Energy was the same. The same as the divine light that had healed him and saved him at Gaduare. Slowly turning to the Emperor he spoke in hushed tones: "You, it was you! You not only inspired my religion but my faith!"

A somber look appeared on the Emperors face as he spoke "Yes, you are not the first to find faith when exposed to my power. From twelve students, a Desert Merchant, The Slave Sage, and the Seventy Two Ascendant each found faith and started faiths under my influence in an attempt to stop things like this" He gestured to the atrocity before them.

Snapping back to the memory they watched as the Ancient glowed with power beyond anything ever seen by mankind. Slowly the Anathema rose into the air and for a moment the citizens of the city looked at the psychic beacon and wondered if salvation or damnation had come to them.

The Ancient Emperor mustered his psychic might and brought something greater and more terrible than either forth. A wave of psychic might rolled off the Ancients body in a Psychic pulse that moved faster than thought across the Earth. Each and every human across the face of the Earth was touched by the tidal wave of Psychic Energy. As one every human touched by Chaos and the whispers of the warp died.

Like marionettes with there strings cut they simply collapsed. There mind shut down telepathically and there soul scoured or destroyed. Even those not corrupted felt the touch of the Anathema across their mind and learned without a shadow of a doubt that there is a higher power, something great, golden and powerful existed. The seeds of every messianic archetype, every king of the gods, every monotheistic deity had been planted.

Humanity had been touched by what many would call the divine and was forever altered by it. A shocked Uriah and a bitter Emperor watched as the Ancient slowly descended back to the temple ground and collapsed onto the ground. Every human being in a hundred kilometers lay dead. Two entire cities and countless villages and families had been stuck down for there sins. Every human that is for Lot and his family.

The Ancient slowly got to his feet, still shaking with shock and grief and looked at the four he had spared. He saw a horrific mix of fear and reverence in their eyes and in a psychic whisper said: "Kindness begets kindness, run and don't look back." They complied and escaped the dead city as fast as they could. Trauma and religious visions filling their minds.

The Emperor and Uriah watched the Ancient sit there with his eyes shut and could see him trying to hold back tears over what he had done. The first great disaster in human history was by his hands, and he could feel the shockwaves of his actions change the future. The Warp had been thwarted in there attempt to corrupt early humanity but at what cost?

Uriah slowly turned to the Emperor and in a half, whisper said "It all makes sense, you… you are the source of faith and you created this need in humanity in your darkest hour." Sadness distorted the Emperor's noble features as he spoke: "I lost control, for one second I lost control and this is what happened. Throughout the millennia I have tried to master and use this mistake to protect and help humanity. Yet no matter what I do, no matter what I say more and more atrocities occur"

The Ancient eventually got to his feet after he sensed Lot and his Family were miles away. The Immortal held out his hands and in a feat of psychic power and control the likes off never scene he telekinetically triggered atomic fusion. A Blast of Nuclear fire erupted before him and consumed the city in a wall of death and fury. It was the first time but most certainly not the last that the being that would eventually be known as the Emperor of Mankind would burn away the taint of chaos.

As the wall of nuclear plasma engulfed them the vision faded and the watchers stood within the Last Church once again. The Emperor seemed emotionally drained and slumped onto one of the pews. Uriah shakily joined him and they sat there in shocked silence for hours. Eventually, in a cracking voice, Uriah spoke: "You are right, religion is a mistake."

Slowly heaving himself to his feet Uriah continued speaking as he walked up to churches Altar "But there is a way, humanity needs something to have faith in, to believe in. Give them something to believe in and sate there need until humanity is ready to know the truth." Almost casually Uriah picked up a guttering candle from the altar and dropped it upon the moth-eaten rug of the Church.

Fire began to spread quickly, the ancient building began to burn as Uriah and the Emperor stared at each other. "Go on then, the Last Church must burn like the First and I must go with it," spoke Uriah in a hoarse whisper. With a somber calmness, the Emperor got to his feet and stood before Uriah. The Priest shut his eyes and awaited his end.

It did not come, instead, golden energy flared and the emperor cast aside his illusionary form and stood before Uriah in his full glory. With surprising delicacy, the Emperor brought his armored hand to the Last Priests forehead. Golden energy filled Uriah's body and soul. He could feel his body healing from a thousand different ailments brought on by time and a hard life. In turn, his soul was purified from the touch of the Four and became armored against them.

In a voice that commanded armies and ordered the building of empires he spoke " **Uriah Olathaire, you are wise for a man of so few years. I will not let you burn and be forgotten like the faiths of old. You are to come with me into this future. The Shining Path is narrow and you will help me keep our species upon it** "

The Emperor of Mankind then turned and left the Church with the newly ordained Guardian of Truth. Together they watched the Last Church of mankind burn to the ground. Uriah then asked simply as what once was his home became ash and dust "So what now?" The Emperor was stony-faced as he responded: " **We have a species to save."**

(A.N. Sorry this took so long. Its size coupled with a minor accident I suffered that put me out of commission for a bit are why there was such a massive delay. I am thinking chapter ten will be shorter so hopefully not nearly as long of a wait. Hope you all enjoy!)


	11. Chapter 10: Let there be Light

**Chapter Ten: Let there be Light**

Date: 782.M30

Location: Project Beacon a.k.a. The Hollow Mountain a.k.a Restricted Zone Everest

Malcador was an old man, a very old man. He had lived for millennia and seen much. The end of the Golden Age, the countless horrors of the Old Night and now he was both architect and witness to the next stage of human history. The Age of Imperium was coming and he was helping usher it in.

These thoughts drifted through the Sigillites mind as he wandered the topmost layer of the amphitheater-like structure that was known as the Hollow Mountain. A good chunk of Mt. Everest and the surrounding Himalazia's had been hollowed out to provide a location for the next stage of the Great Work to begin.

Ancient Vaults were being carved out of the deepest bedrock to contain the most horrific artifacts of the Old Night. Psi-War ruins had been rediscovered and were being rebuilt as a massive center of Psyker training and housing. A massive chunk of Eurasia was being prepared for the construction of one of the largest terrestrial structures in human history. All of these projects were under Malcadors purview and were parts of the greater overarching plan he and his Liege had crafted over the centuries.

Yet the prime project within the tallest of Terra's peak worried him more than any other. A massive Psychic device was being carefully constructed within Mount Everest. Huge quantities of manpower, arcane lore and beyond priceless relic from before the Fall of the Federation were being used in the construction of titanic machine.

Malcador has taken more direct control over most of the governing of the Imperium along with oversight of the numerous secondary projects while the Emperor devoted himself to finishing the Primarchs and modifying the work within the Hollow Mountain. This had not been the first time the Emperor had thrown himself into a project obsessively but some of the Emperors behavior had worried Malcador.

The Message had seemed to restore parts of the Emperor and the once disturbingly stoic Ubermensch seemed disquietingly human. When Malcador had first met Revelation he had seemed inhuman and more akin to a machine than man in both temperament and behavior. When the idea of the ritual to cast aside what was left of his humanity to empower the Primarchs was first discussed Malcador could not help himself from thinking "What will be different?"

Malcador had at first believed he had been accurate in his prediction. With the Emperor barely if at all changing in mindset or behavior. When the contents of the message from the so-called "God-Emperor" was revealed to Malcador he had been both horrified and strangely relieved. The future he had been shown and how close they had come to it had brought genuine fear to the Ancient Sigillite yet it confirmed something he had long suspected and hoped. Below millennia of trauma, stress, and fear was a genuine human heart and a good one at that.

The Emperor of Mankind had tried to discard his humanity many times but now it had returned to him full force and the effects were startling. Major changes to the Primarch project had been made. Certain inbuilt weaknesses had been discarded, countless genetic defects were being corrected and the maturing fetuses had been linked psychically in an incredible display of warpcraft. Yet despite what seemed to be great leaps and bounds being made worries crept into Malcadors mind.

The Primarchs were being perfected, not as weapons but as humans. Perfect humans meant to conquer and rule. Such things had been attempted before throughout history. Malcador had seen the records and the Emperors own memories of the events. The results had been horrific and the Emperor's "Sons" were leagues beyond the various Gene-Tyrants of the distant past. Even if a galaxy-burning civil war was averted and Chaos was thwarted they may be stuck with a whole new host of problems created by entitled self-declared heirs to the Imperium.

Contingencies for that eventuality were being developed and Malcador could only hope the progeny of the Anathema inherited his love of humanity and desire to protect and shepherd the species. The Last Priest was to apparently be involved in this effort to humanize the Primarchs, along with the Assa-Matrari. Another thing the Emperor had drafted up to hopefully ensure the functionality of the Primarchs. Maternal Figures to help raise the Primarchs into healthy functioning humans. Psychological profiles had been written on the ideal mothers for each Primarch based and a search was on to find these women before the Primarchs finished gestation.

The other project worried him even more, for there seemed to be far too few contingencies in place in regard to the machine within Everest. Last Minute changes to the design had baffled even the greatest minds of the Terrawatt clan and Malcador had to draw upon the full brunt of his considerable intellect and knowledge base in order to understand.

The Warp-Beacon aspect of the machine had its projection elements modified to allow for more concentrated amounts of psychic energy to envelop the galaxy at the cost of efficiency. It appeared the Emperor intended to sacrifice broadcasting radius in exchange for a stronger radiant effect.

Slightly more understandably the Astra-Telepathica nexus had received upgrades in order for much larger and focused psychic linkage. Malcador theorized that these psi-uplinks were to allow secondary beacons to be created or allow other beings to power or influence it. Lastly and perhaps strangest of all the Deep-Warp linkage now allowed for excess psychic energy coming from the beacon or being focused on to it to be injected into Warp in strange patterned bursts that would inevitably lead to some form of God-Forging.

These changes worried Malcador, especially the fact that Terrawatt Warp-Sages were changing their estimates on how much Energy the so-called Astronomicon would take to operate. The original design would have already been intensely draining upon the operator but the changes increased the required Psychic power significantly. A truly massive amount of the Emperors power was going to be dedicated solely to keeping it lit and that drain was only going to increase once the Emperor left Terra.

The machine had already been a dangerous gamble on the Emperors part that required a solid chunk of his psychic power but this seemed less like a gamble but more of a mistake to Malcador. Especially with a certain trend Malcador had noticed. Ever since the Emperor had returned from the beacon his psychic power seemed dimmer. Not enough for normal human to detect and not enough for most psykers but Malcadors warp-senses were some of the sharpest in human history.

A light temporary dimming would be little to worry about but the lessening of the Emperors power had not ended. If anything it had gotten worse. In the few years since the message Malcador had noted an approximately 1% decrease in his Lieges power, and with no sign of this downward trajectory stopping. He had tried to bring it up with the Emperor on numerous occasions and had gotten vague non-answers that typically could be summed up as "It is not something to worry about and it's under control"

These worries plagued Malcadors mind and nothing could put them to rest. Had they dodged a bullet with the message from the future or had they simply exposed themselves to other dangers? Malcador had walked about a quarter of the circumference of the amphitheater that formed the peak of the Astronomicon as he mentally debated his worrying thoughts. Within hours the Emperor would arrive from Luna and the next step would unfold.

Malcador shut his wizened eyes and simply hoped that he was wrong and all would go smoothly. Eventually an Adept entered the chamber and reached Malcador. He brought various tidings for the Sigillite to mull over. Two more highly probably Assa-Matrari candidates had been found. Initial reports from Uriah about Orioc were worrying and Chaotic taint was suspected. The last preparations for ignitions were going smoothly and the Emperor had left Luna along with highly classified Cargo. Soon the Master of Mankind would arrive and the next step upon the Shining Path would be taken.

Final nervous preparations were made and eventually, the private shuttle of the Emperor made Vox contact. The _Auric Aquilla_ was inbound and additional menial servitors were requested for unloading extremely precious cargo. In a scene that mirrored the incident on Luna, the Emperor of Mankind arrived at the Hollow Mountain and was greeted by Malcador.

Yet much to Malcadors surprise, the Emperor was not accompanied solely by his Custodes. The minute the Dropships doors opened Malcador could sense them. Twenty Infant Demigods had come with their Father. The Sigillite simply raised an Eyebrow as he knelt before the Emperor "My Lord, why have you brought them?" asked Malcador in a slightly worried voice.

The Emperor simply smiled as twenty Gestation Capsules were emptied from his vessel. A Capsule marked **I** was moved by the servitors in between the Emperor and Malcador. Both peered at the sleeping fetus and Malcador realized his Masters intent. The Primarch floating inside were not a fetus any longer but an infant ready to be born.

"You intend to bring them into reality with the Astronomicon?" Malcador was shocked at first but soon the Emperor's logic dawned upon them. The Lighting of the Astronomicon would mark the beginning of a new age, the Age of Imperium. The Primarchs would be born with it forever binding them in the myth-forms of the Warp as champions of humanity and wardens of the Shining Path. This would dissolve any claim real or imagined the Ruinous Powers had to the Primarchs and break countless chains of fate bound around the infants and their destinies.

The Emperor quietly responded "We will need every advantage possible in order to survive the coming storm. The Eldars Fall has damned the galaxy and the Warp has reached levels of horror never before seen, except perhaps for during the height of the First War. Chaos will hunger for more and feels entitled to my Sons. I will not allow the petulant abominations to claim any more of my children or species." Malcador nodded in agreement and watched his Liege leave to make his own final preparations.

. The finishing touches were being made and within a few months, the Astronomicon would be lit. Custodes patrolled the ever-growing macro-structure of the Himalazia and helped oversee the construction and security of the future site of the Imperial Palace. Officials ranging from high ranking adepts to old Terran Nobles wandered the secure zones of the site. They had been summoned to be witness to what the Emperors messengers had simply called "The next step in Unity"

Malcadors agents transported hundreds of collected Psykers into the great Chamber. They ranged from simple telepaths who had been rescued from lynch mobs by Imperial forces too powerful reality renders sworn to the Emperors service. All had been hand-picked to be the first of there kind. The first Astropaths. The great amphitheater was built to house a Million humans and only about a thousand seats were filled with Psykers but Malcador could glimpse possible futures where legions of Psykers were brought forth to be bound to the Astronomicon.

Terrawatt Sages scurried about through the inner workings of the great machine, working to ensure everything was in proper order. The last work-colonies had been emptied months ago and now all that remained was fine-tuning and last minute checks. The Emperor himself oversaw some of this to ensure his exacting specifications were met.

Similarly, Genewrights monitored the Gestation Capsules of the Primarchs. No side-effects of the new Gene-Alchemy or the psychic binding had been detected but the disciples of Luna kept a wary eye out for any last minute changes. Seven Assa-Matrari had been selected so far and Primarchs I, IV, VI, VIII, XIII, XVI, and XVII would be welcomed into the world by mother figures. and hopefully their brother's Matrons were not long to be found.

These and countless other preparations were being made as the scheduled day of ignition approached. The Emperor had secluded himself in order to prepare himself and all save Malcador and Valdor were forbidden from him. The Right and Left hands of the Emperor were both busy with countless duties both involving and not involving the Astronomicon.

Thankfully Uriah Olathaire and Arik Taranis both assisted with external duties and keeping Terra calm. Uriah had led a diplomatic delegation to the Antarctic city-state of Orioc were the worst fears had been confirmed. Chaos worship infested the faith of the isolationists and they must be cleansed. The Lighting Bearer was then sent at the head of a massed force of Imperial Armies and had reduced the glacier-capped city to ash and dust.

Soon the dawn of the final day approached. Everything was set and the Astronomicon would be lit. The twenty Infant Primarchs had there gestation capsules set to ring the central altar of the Amphitheater. A literal mountain of Machinery had been built in and around this single focal point to control and bind a massive amount of psychic energy. Soon the Emperor would light the Beacon and the next stage of his Great Ambition could be undertaken.

Malcador accompanied by Valdor and the Tribunes journeyed deep into a hidden natural cavern that had been discovered during the initial construction period of the Astronomicon. The Emperor had appeared to expect its discovery and had named the strange cave the "Place of Leng" and used it at as a mix of personal quarters, laboratory and meditation chamber.

The Five entered into the cavern and Valdor felt a familiar shiver run up his spine. Custodes could not feel fear or existential dread and were virtually immune to insanity causing stimuli yet still that slight instinctive shiver still existed among the Golden Legion and was there only indication that he was experiencing something that would traumatize a mortal man. The Cavern was a place where the Material Universe had been warped by things beyond human imagination and it was filled with the planet-shattering psychic energy of the Emperor of Mankind.

The Emperor meditated mid-air in the chamber. A Corona of golden psychic energy flickered around him and the chamber was filled with a miniature psychic star. The Emperor's form was semi-disconnected from the physical and Malcador could barely peer past the wall of energy to see the ever-shifting form of the being known only as The Emperor or Revelation.

As Malcador reached out with his mind to the Emperor and used his Soul-Bound link to pass through the inferno to touch his lieges mind. Instantly Malcador knew something was wrong. The Emperor's psychic power had waned massively, instead of the almost imperceptible decreases since the message he had lost nearly half of his power. Still far beyond any mortal but a shadow of his former glory.

Genuine fear entered Malcadors mind, something had crippled his liege and humanity, nay reality itself was damned if the Great Plan could not move humanity further on the Shining Path. The Emperor pulled himself out of his meditation when he felt Malcadors presence and began to consolidate himself. Both the Materium and Immaterium hummed with energy as the Corona solidified around the Emperor's body.

The Emperor in all his golden glory soon stood before them and the Custodes knelt unison. Malcador began to speak in a worried whisper "My Lord, we need to delay, You could not provide the needed spark without crippling yourself. What is happening to you?" The Emperor placed a steady hand on Malcadors and softly replied: "All will be well my Old Friend."

With Malcador and the Custodes following the Emperor strowed out of the Place of Leng. He walked with power and purpose as his advisors desperately trailed him. Both Malcador and Valdor desperately spoke "You can't do this Sir, it will break you. " The Emperor shook his head "All will be well my Old Friends, all will be well."

Using a minor bit of telekinesis Malcador kept up with the Transhumans as he begged his Master "At least reduce the initial radius, from the Segmentum Solar to a more manageable area, a thousand Light Years or so?" The Emperor stopped suddenly and looked at Malcador with confusion "The Segmentum Solar? The Astronomicon will have an effective radius of at least 50,000 light years."

Shock struck the Sigillite, the Emperor intended to not only light the Astronomicon with his reduced power but extend it to its full range even with the Warp Beacon modifications. The galaxy would be covered in an aura of intense radiant power but it would be far more taxing than the original already rigerious cost of powering the psychic beacon. At full power, the Emperor would barely be able to do such a feat, yet not it seemed an impossible, nay suicidal endeavor.

Telekinetic energy suddenly rippled and Malcador brought his own psychic might to bear. He stood before the Emperor and the Custodes and spoke in a shaking voice "I do not know what madness has possessed you my lord but I will not allow you to doom yourself or the Imperium. This is suicide, and I don't know what has caused this but I swear to you I will save you."

The Custodes drew their Spears and leveled them at Malcador, yet they did not strike like they would have any other to threaten there Master. For his words spoke true and the Custodes were paralyzed by the conflict between there directives. They must serve the Emperor and follow his will no matter the cost yet they must protect the Emperor's life above all else.

The Emperor slowly approached Malcador like a beast tamer trying to soothe a panicked creature. Psychic power flared in warning and Malcador prepared to unleash his full might to incapacitate the Master of Mankind. Before the Sigillite could even react the Emperor had crossed the distance and placed his hand upon Malcadors forehead.

"Your courage and devotion is admirable Old Friend yet you are mistaken. This is no folly." Malcador responded frantically "Something is weakening you, I worry you will not survive the ignition." A soft chuckle met that and the Emperor wore the amused expression of a benevolent king "What is the first lesson that is taught to the Warp-touched?" "To suppress and control their power?" said Malcador almost quoting an old Golden Age text from when Psykers were impossibly rare and the warp was calm.

Energy pulsed from the Emperors palm into Malcadors mind, a vision plucked from the Emperor's own mind entered Malcador.

*A Psychic Corona of familiar power and nature burned in the Warp. The Players of the Great Game circled it, ever watching for even a moments weakness. *

*Diving into the Anathema-Star, past its bulwark inferno of willpower and sanity. Protected by his link to the Emperor he plunged deeper into the star. *

*Deeper and Deeper until the laughter of thirsting gods could no longer be heard he surfaced in the Stars Heart. Mind's eye nearly blinded by its radiance. Hidden behind a Star's corona was a Galaxy. *

*A Quintillion Souls shone before him in a mimicry of the Material Galaxy. All bound together in an eternal song of revelation and sheltered within Galactic arms born of fallen sons.*

*At the center was a mass of psychic power greater than anything ever seen. A Super-Massive flame that linked the million million martyrs surrounding it*

With a great shuddering gasp, Malcador slammed back into reality and barely caught himself on his Force-Staff. Psychically-imbued golden tears trickled down the ancient Sigillites face. The Emperor comforted his stunned friend and spoke "The best place to hide something is in plain sight. I am sorry you did not realize the truth sooner Malcador. I am still adapting to my new capabilities and I did not realize the truth would be hidden even from you."

After helping to steady Malcador the Emperor continued on his path with his entourage close behind. Malcadors mind churned, the sheer power the Emperor had displayed was virtually impossible. The only psychic phenomena he had seen of that caliber was when the Eldars insanity had ripped open the galaxy and then it had only been a split second shade of the Emperors current might. A new golden age just might be in there grasp, and the grimdarkness of the future may yet be avoided.

Eventually, they reached the Chamber of the Astronomicon. Malcador and the Custodes watched as the Emperor walked onto the center of the Altar. As he did machines wirred to light and thousands of Psykers began to sing a meditative chant. The Twenty infant Primarchs slept in there capsules as the Emperor began to summon his power.

Slowly, a golden light started to pour off the Master of Mankind, an aura of majesty filled the chamber as he slowly rose into the air and spread his arms wide. Raw psychic power coalesced around him in a sphere of golden light. It grew greater and greater as focused and linked with the great machine below him.

Every being with a hint of psychic potential within the room could feel there soul be enraptured by the Emperors Power. The air hummed and the mountain began to vibrate as the Emperor's form started to blur and the golden light became brighter than Sol. As the cascade of energy reached its climax a single sentence could be heard across Terra, a single Psychic phrase that echoed in a billion minds

" **Let there Be Light"**


	12. Chapter 11: Angels and Daemons

**Chapter Eleven: Angels and Daemons**

Golden Fire erupted from the Emperor in a titanic pulse. White-Hot psychic energy rippled through both the Materium and Immaterium in a tidal wave of unstoppable might. It took both an age and an attosecond for the Astronomicons light to reach the galaxies edge. Every being in the galaxy with any form of connection to the Warp could feel the shift.

As if a torch was ignited in a once dark room the Warp now shone with psychic light. Xenos of all kinds sensed an oncoming storm, one that would come to right past wrongs and cleanse the galaxy no matter the cost. Some psykers were entranced by the light and felt the call of a distant leader and protector while others recoiled in pain for they had been touched by the darkness and knew nothing of the light.

The Light filled the Chamber of the Astronomicon and the Emperor shut his physical eyes and opened his mental ones. He had linked himself to the great machine and it was now an extension of his will. The Galaxy was laid out before him, everywhere the Light of the Astronomicon touched he could see.

Nearly all of the Milky Way was bathed in the golden light. Only the fiercest of Warp-phenomena could weather the psychic storm he had summoned. He watched the Galaxy as the Astronomicons power spread and solidified. Warp Storms born of the youngest of the fours birth cries were snuffed out like candles in the wind.

Warp Rifts shrunk as Space/Time healed and many of the smaller chaos-born gouges in the universe were sealed shut by the Emperors sheer force of will. Holes into the Immaterium were sewed shut. Daemon Worlds were burned to ash and joined the life cycle of the universe again untainted. Millions of gaping galactic wounds torn open by the Eldars folly were cauterized and sealed.

Even the great breeches into the Warp were affected. Radiant tides of psychic fire crashed into the newly born Eye of Terror and burned away the corruption, purifying light years of Void. The Warp was aflame with psychic light and the Emperor could feel countless tendrils of corruption and taint be pulled sharply back into the Realms of Chaos as their creators felt the scorching heat of the Anathemas light.

The Emperor braced himself psychically as he knew what would come next. The self-proclaimed Masters of the Immaterium would come calling. In a parody of an ocean swell, the warp shuddered. While the Emperor's light burned constantly on the surface of the Sea of Souls Leviathans dwelled deep within it. The Four were coming to confront him.

The immaterium shook as The Four dredged themselves out of their lairs. The Emperor's mind and will covered the Galaxy, acting as a lighthouse centered upon Terra. He stood within the Warp as both Beacon and Beacon-keeper waiting for the Great Enemy to arrive. Soon (if such words can be used in the Warp) the Leviathans breached and the Four Storms of incalculable power surrounded him.

They were everywhere around him and in the far distance as well. Each sought to extinguish the Burning light. Enough psychic energy to corrupt an entire Segmentum was thrown at the beacon. Imagined Energy and Mythological Matter slammed into the Emperor in wave after wave. The Emperor of ages past would have been able to weather this storm as well, but barely. This Emperor, empowered by the blood of martyrs was a different tale.

After an instantaneous age of Chaos slamming its might into the Emperor's psychic bulwark he spoke. In a voice that shook the immaterium, the Emperor addressed the Four:

" **Are you done yet?"**

The sheer disdain and psychic weight of his words slammed into the storms with far more effectiveness than there tantrums. The assault petered out and the storms became solid. Four self-proclaimed gods faced the Master of Mankind. There forms shifted constantly, human, xeno, beast, abomination, they shapeshifted in an ever-changing psychotic caleidoscope.

Any mortal would have long gone insane from being in there presence, and even the Emperor could barely view them in their entirety. The Four circled around him like prowling hyenas searching for any weakness or flaw to exploit. In that moment more of the of the Chaos Gods attention was upon the Emperor, than anywhere else in the material. Space/Time itself would have ripped open under such pressure yet the Master of Mankind stood firm.

Their alien intellects and spiritual power bored into the Emperor, willing him to collapse under their virtually unlimited power. The Emperor said nothing and simply raised his hands slowly like an ancient conductor of music. Flames started to pour out of the Emperor in a slow building inferno that burned/pierced the depths of the Warp. While the Astronomicon boiled the surface of the Sea of Souls these Spear/Sword/Spikes of Heat/Light/Holy/Energy were hurled deep into the realm/heart/core of the Chaos Gods.

Right as the lances struck them Warrior-Memories/Spirits came into being and struck the Four. Phantoms of ghost-shards of corrupted godlings lashed out at there Doom.

*A Snarling Berserker gouged the Blood-Soaked Hound-King with Dragon-Toothed Axes and roared "I AM NO ONE'S SLAVE! YOU ARE NOT MY MASTER!" *

*Molten Metal Arms gripped the Thirsting Folly-Snake tightly and seared it's not-flesh in ways intolerable even to it. Silver-Haired/Bladed Warrior moved faster than lighting and punctured the Snakes heart with a whisper "For Ferrus" *

*Rotten Flesh burn/sliced, the Ghastly Grandfather weeped. A Reaping-Angel struck over and over as he chanted in a raspy voice "I aM nOt WEak, RoT in hELL wITCh THinG"

*A trillion eye/mouths were silenced/blinded by a One-Eyed King. Knowledge/Power poured into the Screaming-Crystal and burned it like Fire/Acid. Its Laugh/Weeping was meant with a simple soft retort "I am not your puppet"

The Chaos Gods were smashed back, there unassailable might was assailed and the Four Lies flickered. Recovering and putting down a billion revolts and warp-born anarchy they approached their enemy again. The Emperor watched as the monsters approached warily. A mirthless grin appeared on his face as he said: "The tables have turned abominations, that was just a taste of what you have coming."

The Four spoke in undivided chaos, there 4/trillion voices were one. "What do you want, Anathema" The last word was spat, more like an insult than name or title. "You have protected "your" godlings and pollute our kingdom with your wretched fire, why are you here?" A vicious sneer crossed the Emperors perfect/terrifying features: "I am here to discuss the terms of your surrender"

The Warp was silent for an age/moment before Laughter/Screams echoed throughout it in a psychotic display of mirth that drove a billion random mortal across the galaxy utterly insane. "Surr-en-der? You are a greater fool than we ever thought Anathema. You have done nothing, NOTHING! Except for delaying/quickening the inevitable. You will fall Anathema, your species will embrace us more fully than any other and all you have done will be for naught.

The Flames intensified with His fury and the warp burn/froze with the Emperors cold fury. In a black-iron growl, he answered there taunts calmly. "I am here to offer you an alternative to your extinction, if you reject my proposition there will be no mercy and I will ensure your elimination." The laughter of the thirsting gods continued in a sickening mocking cacophony. "Foolish child of man, you are not even a player in our Great Game. Just a delusional pawn hoping to scratch the hand/tendril/paw that moves it."

Another wave of Hate-Flame crashed into the Chaos Gods but with diminished effects. The Laughter only increased in volume: "You are nothing Anathema, just another in the infinite multiverse to toy with and ruin. So speak your bit, it might be amusing to see what you could possibly want." The Emperor gathered/girded himself, he had never once considered the idea of negotiation with the Tumor-Gods but no matter the outcome it would further his plans.

"Disconnect from the Material, passively feed on naturally generated emotions. No more corruption, no more incursions, no more insanity. You are to leave my sons, my species and my Universe alone." Again the Warp was silent before the laughter erupted again, louder and more horrifically mocking than before.

"How banal and pathetic, we hoped it would be something more interesting, like asking to join us in godhood. We all know that's what you truly desire, to be like us. Omnipotent, Omniscient and Omnipresent. To control everything as you see fit, you want to bring "Order" to everything. The idea is amusing at least, it would almost be fun to gain another rival/sibling/piece. So how about it Anathema, join us in our growing pantheon. We gained a new member a few eons/moments ago and we would be happy to have you"

Blades of righteous fury burned/cut the warp as the Emperor's wrath increased. "I am not a God, and neither are any of you." A sly chuckle responded "oh then why do you dress yourself and your creations so? Angels? Crusades? Omnissiah? You tell all that you are not Divine then try to act the part. So come join us Em-per-or, and become what you have always been destined to be. The God Emperor of Mankind."

Visions of Legions of Light, Gods of the New Order and Unity in the face of fire and flame echoed before the Emperor as he responded. "The Warp is a place where myths become fact and symbolism becomes strength. The titles that are often given to you and your ilk is Daemons and Dark Gods. What better way to cast down hell-spawn then with an army of Angels?" New visions then entered his mind, of Heresy, Betrayal, and insanity. "Oh but Anathema you know as well as we do that Angels can fall…"

Nine Mythforms sprung into being, each formed from future-memories and destinies thwarted. The nine things were broken parodies of the Traitor Primarchs. Lacking the true glory or horror of them either in Human or Daemonic states. Simply Warp-flesh carved into the shape of fallen sons. The Golearchs lumbered forward bellowing demented war-screams. Before the things could react they had been obliterated blade/flames had burnt/slashed them to ashes/pieces.

The mad laughter grew in intensity at the Filicidal display. Once the last of the Golearchs, a whimpering parody of mighty Lupercal was slain they spoke again. "We reject your terms Anathema and offer our own. Give us our due and we shall leave your species be. Give us Four of your Sons and we will spare you and the rest."

The Emperor could see flickers of futures where the Four were made flesh. Avatars of Chaos each greater and more terrible than anything the mortal realm had ever scene unleashed. They continued in mocking seductive screaming: "Simply give to us what is owed and we will find other toys to play with."

Gritting his teeth the Emperor snarled "I owe you abominations nothing, how dare you. First, you attempt to steal away my Sons and now you attempt to barter for them like livestock. My attempts to negotiate with you was obviously a fool's errand. BEGONE you tumors born of ancient folly!"

The Chaos Gods simply laughed "How human, denying you owe us a debt in the creation of your children. For the powers of the Warp, the very substance of our being was used in there creation, are they not our children as much as they are yours? You came to us on Moloch and stole from us! All we want is a minor amount of restitution Anathema."

A Column of Golden Fire detonated, Soul-Flames blast/burnt the Four/Undivided back as the Emperor marshaled his power and roared. "I STOLE NOTHING FROM YOU, YOU ERRANT TOOLS! ON MOLOCH MY BIRTHRIGHT WAS RECLAIMED, AND I WILL USE IT TO ENSURE YOUR ABSOLUTE ANNIHILATION!"

The Four/Undivided hissed and screeched as the flames lapped at them. "Choose Anathema! Four! or Half! We will claim our prize eventually." More energy cascaded into the Chaos Gods, evaporating entire figment-realms and burning the False-Flesh of their avatars. The Four fled from his wrath all while leaving one final whispered threat. "You are not the first Anathema to fall but you will be the last. We will ensure that Revelation!"

With the Four gone the Emperor let out a deep breath. He looked/sensed/touched the Galaxy that was blanketed with his power and thought to himself. "The Shining Path widens still" As the final wave of the Astronomicans ignition reached the Galaxies edge and solidified The Emperor allowed himself to return to his physical form.

The instant he did the Emperor was greeted by a sound as old as humanity. A sound that instilled countless emotions in all the Children of Terra who heard it. The sound of humanities future, the sound of crying infants. With the birth of the Emperor's Will made Light came the birth of his Will made Flesh. Twenty Primarchs had been born.


	13. Side Story: Supplementary Material

1\. New Names

Primarch

Assa-Matrari

Aspect

Title

Ring Symbol

Legion

* * *

Eddard Fendragon

Meghann Winzar

The King

The Emperor's Sword

The Lion

The Black Knights

* * *

Aleixo Garvia

Lezelle Pantharo

The Explorer

Imperial Explorer

The Sea Monster

Void Champions

* * *

Iskandar Basileus

Fredriika Ferracioli

The Champion

The Emperor's Champion

The Innocent

The Phoenix Guard

* * *

Octaviar Perturabo

Zorath lliluyeva

The Defender

Warden of the Eye

The War-Goat

The Steel Wardens

* * *

Tengri Khagan

Oelun hatun

The Outrider

Imperial Outrider

The Rider

Lighting Riders

* * *

Tyric Baldrson

Ulrika Frijor

The Warrior-King

Slayer of Monsters

The Sword

The Wild Hunt

* * *

Rogal Mauer

Petra Sauer

The Guardian

Warden of Sol

The Shield

The Solar Wardens

* * *

Konrad Curze

Theresa Nellie

The Punisher

Judge of the Damned

The Scales of Justice

The Shadow Scions

* * *

Dante Uriael

Miriam Tokos

The Angel

The Archangel

The Angel

Angels Ascendant

* * *

Culain Mactursan

Maggs Geddes

The Smith

Forge-Master

The Scorpius

Stormbringers

* * *

Kalib Kraad

Meredith Kane

The Hunter

Warden of Souls

The Hunter

Soul Hunters

* * *

Baraca Themistar

Hidamia

The Liberator

Breaker of Chains

The Beast

The Warhounds

* * *

Marcus Augustio

Theodora Deculus

The Ruler

Imperial Maester

The Bountiful

The Prime Legion

* * *

Moric Thane

Elsa Immerwahr

The Reaper

The Grim Lord

The Wandering Goat

The Grave Wardens

* * *

Magnus Rubricar

Lybara Rasut

The Mage

Lord of Mysteries

The Student

The Arcanists

* * *

Horus Lupercali

Thalia Carpinus

The Commander

Master of War

The Legion-Centaur

Lunar Templars

* * *

Phillip Lot

Mary Atimah

The Speaker

Grand-Iterator

The Void-Guide

The Imperial Heralds

* * *

Odafin Vulkan

Iya Risha

The Maker

Lord-Perpetual

The Salamanders

The Dragon Forged

* * *

Kota Raven-Wing.

Romelia Shakonya

The Avenger

Imperial Prosecutor

The Crow

Ashen Talons

* * *

Alpharius Omegon

Koyne 355

The Secret

Spymaster Primus

The Twins

Ghost Legion

* * *

Arik Taranis

None

The Beast

Throne-Slayer

The Lost Serpent

Thunder Warriors

* * *

2\. The Emperor and Death (An old theory of mine that helped inspire this story.)

This is a pet theory of mine about The Nature of the Emperor and his power. I intend to incorporate parts of it into the story so I figured I would post the prototype version of it. The evidence seems to suggest the origin involving the Shamans is true, The Emperor seems rather powerful for that alone. The Shamans at best were probably at most around an Eldar Farseer in power, and if the combined might of a few thousand Farseer class Psychics were an actual threat to Chaos... Well, Slaanesh would be running with its... tail between its legs. So a few possibilities emerge.

A. the Shamans were much more powerful which is a possibility but considering what we know about human psychics, that many Alpha+ Psykers seems unlikely and flat-out dangerous.

B. the effects are multiplicative which if true means Ynnead once its full power is unlocked will be able to curb-stomp the Chaos gods easily.

C. is he stole most of his power on Moloch which seems unlikely considering he managed to seal the Void Dragon/Dragon of Mars away during the Middle Ages.

D. is my personal theory. Which is incredibly ironic, explains some of the Emperors more dickish tendencies and also supplies hope for Humanity.

The basics of this theory are that the Emperor is the Human Afterlife. We know the fate of Eldar and Chaos worshipers when the die (eaten/absorbed/collected by their gods) but what about Humanity in general?In 'Master of Mankind' we saw the Emperor Summon up "ghosts" of Imperial Heroes to help in the War of the Webway, these could be psychic projections but what if they literally were the souls of fallen humans? This would explain why the Emperor is so powerful, every human not corrupted by Chaos fuses with also explains why his appearance and personality appear to shift, he is a mixture of trillions of souls of varying morality and nature. The Emperor is not just the Master of Mankind but Mankind itself.

Being the Human Afterlife would explain quite a few of the Emperors traits and abilities. His hatred of Religion makes perfect sense when you realize he knows \ the truth of the Afterlife, and how many Religions are touched by Chaos so they steal souls away from his protection. The Emperor's Xenophobia also is justified. All the suffering and death caused by Xeno's during the Age of Strife, he felt every death and betrayal.

The Age of Strife would also explain how the Emperor became as obscenely powerful he is. How much of humanity do you think died during it? How many Trillions or Quadrillions of humans perished and joined the Gestalt-God that is the Emperor is humanity's champion and protector, it would make sense for him to not just physically but to spiritually protect humanity. He was created as Human Pseudo-Infinity Circuit to protect us from the dangers of the Galaxy and Warp.

The hope in this theory comes when you realize how many Humans have died in his service in the Age of Imperium. It would seem that he had one last grisly trick up his sleeve even after the Human-Webway failed. The death and horror of the Imperium are the ultimate gambits, it feeds Chaos but also feeds the Emperor. This would explain why Chaos has not fully succeeded and broken down the walls of reality and why the Legion of the Damned (who appear to be Imperial Daemons) are appearing more and more often. The Emperor is growing in power and holding Chaos at bay

* * *

3\. Rebuilding Humanities Technology

One thing that will be touched on throughout this story that I don't think sees enough light is the issues with rebuilding humanities tech-base. The standard line of thought both in and out of universe is that a complete uncorrupted STC will solve all of the Imperium's technological woes and propel humanity back to its golden age. This is sadly not true. The Iron War did not just destroy Galactic Human Civilization but also permanently ruined entire fields of science so that anything related to them could cause a galaxy-wide holocaust of organic life. All technology that relies on Artifical intelligence, Silicon-based computers, and information networking has to be scrapped to be never used again. Imagine what would happen to modern Earths technology and society if those particular facets of technology were completely off-limits, now add more than 20,000 years of scientific advances into the problem.

It's not just a simple case of recovering ancient tech, but of discovering entirely new forms of technology that humanity never knew about or needed to investigate due to the effectiveness of AI. The Emperor and Malcador have access to truly colossal amounts of Golden Age tech and knowledge but a lot of it is simply unusable without Chaos/C'tan/Rogue A.S.I. contamination turning whatever your building against you in the most unpleasant ways possible. STC's that don't rely on this forbidden tech are not uncommon and will greatly benefit the Imperium but the vast majority of truly advanced stuff like what we saw with the Speranza is unusable.

The Mechanicum comes into this with being one of the few organizations in the galaxy that are the jury-rigging old tech to work with safer alternatives along with making new advances with safer alternatives like Biologically based computers, Neurolinked Data-Nets, and Organic Robots. So while gathering STC's is useful and will speed up humanities return to Golden Age heights they are in no way an end-all-be-all solution to humanities woes. This is also why numerous "complete" STC's or hyper-advanced human-based tech was destroyed in the Great Crusade. Civilizations like the Interex or the Olamic Quietude were wiped out or at least did not have there tech integrated into the Imperium because they were headed down the path of either having there tech corrupted or another AI rebellion occurring.

We will see humanities technology resurge in this story with the Mechanicum and more tech aligned Primarchs discovering and developing technology to help advance humanity. Psi-tech will also be something to be played around with since humanities advancement into a species of stable psykers is the Emperors goal.

* * *

4\. Reapers and Murderers (A theory that has some importance for the later plot)

Something that never seemed to make sense about the Nightbringers story is how a being that is anathema to the Immaterium would have such a massive effect on it. Creating a warp-concept of the Grim-Reaper and instilling an irrational fear of death in sentients seems outside of the capabilities of C'tan. It would be like the Chaos Gods altering the laws of physics. The Chaos Gods are masters of the Immaterium and can only influence the Material realm by injecting parts of there dimension into ours. (Possession, Warprifts, Daemon Worlds.) Similarly, the C'tan lack the ability to alter the Warp and as far as we know never attempted "reverse possession" or something similar into the Warp (Although the Pylons and there devouring of souls/life energy might be the equivalent.)

A purely material being messing with the Immaterium so species never even touched by the Old Ones developed the Idea of the Reaper seems impossible, until you remember one particular incident during the War in Heaven. Khaine and the Nightbringer duked it out with Khaine emerging victorious. During the fight, a shard of the Nightbringer was claimed/stolen/put inside by Khaine and became his Reaper Aspect. This leaves the possibility that this was less of Khaine taking a part of the Nightbringer but them exchanging something. With Khaine gaining the aspect of the Reaper and the Nightbringer interacting with the Warp in some way. With Khaine being a Warp God touched by the material and The Nightbringer being a C'tan touched by the Warp. Considering what we know about Aza'Gorod and his gluttonous tendencies it seems possible he did "something" to the Warp (possibly an attack on souls mid-reincarnation?) to seriously mess with it in an attempt to feed on the soul stuff of it.

To add another layer to this is the Avatar of Khaine. They seem to be utterly incongruous with what we know of Eldar tech and lore. Being made of an unknown metal and seemingly existing even before the fall in some form or another. With Avatars of Khaine like the Warshard existing in places that predate his Shattering and the fall by thousands if not millions of years. What if a metaphorical concept was not the only thing taken from the Nightbringer but an actual shard of his necrodermis body. Which the Ancient Eldar crafted into Altars of Khaine. (I mean using bits of fallen foes in religious site to Khaine is practically his whole shtick) These Altars fitting to a Wargod could probably channel a portion of his power into them much like the modern Avatars but most likely significantly stronger if the Warshard is anything to go by. Then when Khaine was broken and the Material became the hunting ground for Slaanesh his pieces fled to the only safety left, his foothold in the Material.

So it seems likely that the Nightbringer was the only C'tan to leave such a visceral effect on the immaterium, while the rest simply messing with the Material instead. Also, the idea that the Avatars are soul-containers crafted by the Ancient Eldar is backed up by Avatars being defeated and possessed. As seen by two particularly unlucky ones that a Keeper of Secrets and Genestealer Patriarch managed to take over. While this theory does seem like it has little to do with this story the War in Heaven is going to be majorly involved with later plot and I wanted to sort of introduce some of that.

* * *

5\. Chaos Unborn

Another Theory I have been tooling with over the years. This may or may not be related to this story, in particular, the Identity of some of the other PA#'s Which is the Emperors scientific classification for the Chaos Gods. PA9 being Tzeentch PA8 being Khorne, PA7 being Nurgle and PA6 being Slaanesh.

The Four Chaos Gods are arguably the greatest threat to known existence (we don't know how dangerous the 'Nids truly are) They were responsible for some of the greatest calamities in Galactic history, from the Age of Strife to the 13th Black Crusade and the Great Rift, but how do we know there are only Four? Now I know what you're thinking "oh boy here we go about Malal" but the Renegade God is not the focus of this theory. I theorize Malal may just be the tip of a very big and very dangerous iceberg.

I speak of Chaos Unborn, possible Chaos gods that might be born or be in the process of being born. We know that Chaos gods are typically born slowly and steadily over vast periods of time and that Slaanesh is an oddity, so could other aspects of mortal emotions be congealing in the Warp? The reason I started thinking about this was some reading I was doing into Warhammer Fantasy and how Be'lakor is referred to as the only Daemon Prince of Chaos Undivided. This seems extremely contradictory to 40k that has many Daemon Princes of Chaos Undivided, such as Lorgar, Perturabo and Ingethel. This could be a simple lore differentiation but I thought that it might be more. What if Chaos Undivided is not Undivided but Chaos Unborn. With these Daemon Princes being servants of unborn gods.

The three main aspects of Chaos undivided that do not seem to fit under any other gods banner seem like good possibles for Unborn Chaos Gods. The first of these is what I am going to call the Dark Machine, the thing that is worshiped by the Dark Mechanicum, the Kai-Smiths and might be the Unborn patron of Perturabo. Second is The Raptor-God the entity that is Worshiped by the Raptor-Cults and may be the Chaos God of Fear, considering its worshipers. Lastly and most terrifying is the Unborn God of Faith, this being is the most likely result of the Word-bearers efforts and the countless lesser Cults across the Galaxy.

This Unborn god might be related to what Lorgar has been up too for the last 10k years. The really scary thing is what if this Faith god might not just be a god of dark faiths but related to the Faith in the Emperor. What if a mutated Half God-Emperor half Chaos God is gestating in the Warp being fed by the blind faith of the Imperium and the insanity of Chaos Undivided?

* * *

6\. Smoke on the Water, Fire in the Warp: Or how the Chaos Gods perspective for Chapters 10 and 11.

Imagine you are a Leviathan, a lord of the Deep that can summon hurricanes with a breath. You reach out of the sea and drag your prey into the depths for your own amusement. You and your siblings are the undisputed masters of your domain, every being in the depths serves you or fears you. Yet you hunger for more, to drag all that lies in the light into the depths, to reach out from beneath the waves and pull the continents into the sea.

Now imagine there is a hunter, a brave surface dweller who can travel the depths unmolested and seeks to slay each of you. No matter what you try, you can not destroy him, he is beyond your reach and worse still he has a plan. A plan to starve you till you waste away, till your once great form is rotten and skeletal, till you are weak and broken. Then he will poison the ocean, make it so what had once been your domain is now anathema to your very being. You, your siblings and your spawn will die slow horrible deaths as the Hunters own children take to the poisoned sea now that it is safe from your hunger.

Yet you and your siblings also have a plan, a plan to stop the Hunter and use his own might against him. You plot to steal his young and twist them to your will. Force him to raise vipers in his nest, half of them will fall and drag there father into the depths with them. If you succeed not only will the hunter be broken utterly, turned into a living ever-screaming corpse but his greatest works will chum the waters and feed you well until you are strong enough to pull the world into the sea, where it will be yours to feed upon and play with for all eternity.

The Plan is working, the bait has been laid and the Hunters Spawn are almost in your embrace, then suddenly everything is burning, your minions are ripped apart by the ghosts of broken tools and the spawn are safe. Before you can even realize what has occurred and start to plan something new the Ocean is alight. The surface of the sea is burning, the Hunter has somehow become something greater. No longer a monster-slayer but a Lord of the Surface and the Skies. He lets just a small trickle of his blood fall into the sea and the surface is ablaze. No matter how much you rage, the storms you seek to make are burned upon the surface. Each foray above the waves becomes a painful race against time for leaving the safety of the depths exposes you to scorching flames. Flames fed by all those you sought to feed off and play with.

You realize your great scheme has failed, the Hunter and his spawn are coming. You once master of the depths now know something new, what its like to be preyed upon, what its like to be the victim of something beyond your imagination, to reap a terrible reward for misguided greedy actions. In short, the suffering you have long inflicted upon the Hunters people is now yours.


	14. Chapter 12: Children of Terra

**Chapter Twelve:** **Children of Terra**

Date: 790.M30  
Location: The Emperor's private quarters within the Inner Palace.

The Emperor rarely slept, his Apex-mind and physiology did not require it. During periods of crisis he had spent literal years awake with no physical side effects and he doubted centuries of consciousness would have an effect. Yet he still chose to sleep occasionally. Not much, just a night once a week where he shut his eyes and allowed himself to rest.

He had been mildly surprised when this ancient practice of his had somehow influenced some of the Religions that had sprung up in his wake, they called it the Sabbath. Like many of the quirks he had picked up throughout the millennia it had unintended consequences upon human history. These sabbaths reminded him of that and the consequences of even the smallest errors.

Yet reminding him of lessons long ago learned was only one of the reasons the Emperor decided to still sleep. It helped him feel human, feel more connected to his species. He knew logically that engaging in basic bodily maintenance did not actually make him more human but when he went long periods without it he felt himself becoming distant, aloof, and worryingly alien.

The reason for this is related to how sleep and in particularly Dreams connects to the Warp. When mortals dream they touch the surface of the warp and come into contact with there species collective oversoul. Here they touch into what an ancient friend of the Emperor named "The Collective Unconscious" When the Emperor slept he did not experience the random regurgitated memories and emotions of his subconscious mixed with the warp but something much more precise and powerful.

He touched the Oversoul of the human species and could feel the gestalt consciousness of Humanity. It was not unique to him and any Alpha class Psyker or higher could manage it but few did for what they saw there was enough to drive even the most iron-willed psyker mad. The Human Species was trapped in a never-ending nightmare.

The Horrors of the Old Night had touched every Human alive, fear and grief plagued there subconscious as memories both cultural and there own inspired nightmares more horrific than anything seen in human history. Xeno predators drinking the bones of billions and leaving the survivors to clean up continents of distorted corpses. Green Brutes mutilating people into cattle. Material Madness exploding out of a witch's skull and sacrificing its world to Chaos.

Every time the Emperor slept he touched the Oversoul where the Material and Immaterial met and reminded himself of what he must do. No matter the cost he would end the Nightmare and awaken humanity to a new dawn. When he slept he felt all of humanity as one and could feel the future they could obtain upon the Golden Path.

The Emperor's sabbath helped him reconnect with his humanity and since the ignition of the Astronomicon eight years whispers a simple phrase into the dreams of trillions of Terras lost Children. "Salvation is near o'Children of Terra" It was a promise he made both to them and himself. Soon the next step on the Shining Path will be taken and the Great Crusade would launch. Twelve years left, to get everything ready. More time needed than he had originally wanted but it would be worth it.

The Emperor floated in the dreamscape and brought himself back to Terra and watched over the homeworld of his species. He dove/looked into the Palace. It was still under construction but the Dungeons and the basic Skeleton were completed. Peering through layer and layer of the palace he watched the millions of the souls that inhabited the inner palace and looked for Twenty in particular.

All twenty of the Primarchs were asleep within there apartments. They were called Apartments but in truth, they were subterranean mansions built into the Emperor's quarters. (which in turn was a city-sized complex of rooms.) Each Apartment possessed full amenities from feasting halls to modular training complexes. The Emperor could see the various menials awakening to begin there duties and even a few of the more strict Matari beginning their morning rituals.

He chuckled to himself as he watched his Seventh sons foster mother awake before any of the others. Petra Sauer may have retired from the Imperial Army a decade ago but she had changed little. Catching warp-flickers he realized some of his sons still dreamt, he debated peering into them and eventually decided a quick glance wouldn't hurt.

*A King riding a Lion charged a mechanical dragon with the Knights of the Round following him*

It appears Arrik had been regaling young Eddard with tales of the Unification Wars. The Emperor only hoped that the stories his sons heard were not as grisly or nightmarish as the truths of that conflict, they still had a few years of relative innocents. No need to plunge them into a lifetime of war early.

*Cities forged from imagination rose into the sky, constantly improving and being rebuilt by a Conductor of Equations*

Octaviar had so far proven far more stable than the version raised on Olympia and he had hope for his son. The gene-connection was tenuous but some days he saw flickers of his old friend within him.

*Screaming, a thing made of blades and lighting stalked grime covered streets, filth in human flesh committed unspeakable crimes and the bladed thing did unspeakable things to them*

A frown crossed the Emperor's face, Konrad's gift of foresight was great even at this young age but it not only saw futures to be but futures prevented. The Emperor watched the dream of Nocturne for a moment before he reached into the dream and changed it, that horrific future had been prevented and he would not allow his children to be hurt by it.

The Emperor had raised thousands of children throughout human history, some his own, some not. Most of his biological children inherited something from him, increased psychic potential, extended lifespans and a rare few were true immortals like him and some still even walk the ages. Yet even the ones who had inherited great powers from him had been simply powerful humans, these children, his primarchs were true Superhumans in every sense of the word.

Each was intellectually, physically and psychically beyond humanity, yet still human. Their souls were not that of an Aliens but simply More than human. He had crafted them with thousands of years worth of knowledge in both the material and immaterial sciences along with Warp-born power. The twenty children were quite literally Myth made Flesh.

These thoughts floated through the slumbering Emperors mind as he watched the sleeping Primarchs. He could see the horrific futures he had averted and could only hope that their fates were not the tragedies he had seen. In particular, he looked at his 16th and 17th sons. Horus and Phillip both slept soundly and a grim thought entered the Emperors head. In ages past, he had been forced to kill his children and in a possible future he would be forced to do it again to save humanity.

Dispelling that thought the Emperor prepared to awake and return to the material. Just as he did he felt a slight shift. One of his sons had awoken. A soft smile appeared on his face for he knew what would come next. It had become a competition over the last few years over which Primarch could wake up first on the morning after his sabbath. In order to wake him up.

Wincing slightly at what was to come next the Emperor returned to his body and waited in a half asleep state. He did not have to wait long until a black-colored meteor burst through his chambers doors with a squad of Custodes in hot pursuit. A Hetaeron just had enough time to bellow "Let your Father sleep Kota!" before the Nineteenth Primarch barreled into the Emperors sleeping from. Even with the body of an eight-year-old the Primarchs "assault" carried enough power to shatter a normal man's rib cage. It proved an unpleasant shock to the drowsy Emperor.

Kota Ravenwing often won this weekly contest due to his mix of speed and stealth and was laughing in triumph while flitting around the Emperor's bedroom with the energy and momentum only a small child could possess. "Father! I was the first! I Snuck past all my brothers and woke you up!"

The Emperor tousled his son's hair and spoke "You did, I'm impressed my Son but you still need to work on not alerting the Custodes. Kota, you are a true master of stealth in the making. Now run along" The child beamed and scurried off to begin his day's training. The Emperor left his bed and telekinetically dressed himself as he spoke to the Custodes "Letting a child sneak through your defenses? He may be my Son but you are my Companions."

The lead Custodes responded, "There is no excuse my lord." The Emperor let out a slight chuckle before responding "To be fair it is hard to apprehend a Transhuman child moving at nearly a hundred kilometers per hours without injuring him. Though I trust you will eventually find a way. " The Custodes simply nodded and left.

The Emperor finished dressing and prepared to go about his day. The last eight years had been a whirlwind of activity. Terra was being slowly and steadily rebuild with primitive atmosphere scrubbers cobbled together by the Terrawatt Clan beginning the long arduous process of healing the homeworld of the human species. There had been a veritable population explosion thanks to the peace and prosperity brought about by unification.

Countless great works were being built across the planet, employing billions in the construction of new infrastructure and macro-structures. Material wise they were making due with whatever the Archo-Armies could scavenge from the depths of the Old Earth but the Emperor had known that the next phase of his plan would require Terras twin. Mars: the Red world of Technology.

Captured cybernetic scavengers sent from Mars had given a pretty clear picture of what Mars was like, it lined up with both the Emperor's own projections and the God-Emperor's memories. A culture of cybernetic Tech-Worshippers both far too curious and close-minded for their own good. Yet perfect for the next phase of his plan. The Dragons Dreams still seeped into the minds of Mars but they were just dreams so far. The thing sealed within the Labyrinth still slept.

Malcador and the Emperor had both agreed that the time to reach Mars was at hand and the Emperor would lead the first expedition there within a month. He had honestly no idea how long negotiations would last and he was not going to bring his Sons to mars while they were still so young. This would be the first extended period he would be away from his sons and the governing of Terra. The Emperor intended to use said month to ensure both his Children and his Imperium would survive his absence.

The Emperor strowed through the inner Palace reading reports prepared by countless Adepts under Malcador. So far the news was mainly good. Uriah was spreading the "Revised" Imperial Truth throughout Terra. A creed Uriah, Malcador and the Emperor had crafted using entire libraries of religious texts. The Imperial Truth was the idea of Humanities eventual Ascendancy. That by unifying as one we were taking another step down the road of Ascension, and working to humanities birthright as being surpassing any god-creature.

Malcador was busy helping create a bureaucratic system capable of actually governing the galaxy and instituting numerous backups and contingencies to help prevent the Administratium ever becoming the monstrosity of the far future. In turn, the Officio Assassinorum had made good progress through the list the Emperor had given Malcador. At this point thousands of potential threats were dead.

Arik and his equerry were also keeping busy. The Primarchs were still children so it fell to them to train the rapidly growing "First Twenty" as the first batch of 20,000 Astartes were being called. One of each gene-seed lineage. Once mass production of the Legions start these first Legionnaires would form the officer corps of the quickly growing Legio Astartes.

The Emperor had been working on a cure for the sickening of the Thunder Warriors, Astartes Gene-Seed had seemed to be a distinct possibility for a while, but they realized the organs would eventually reject the two thunder warriors and leave them in even worse shape. So far a stopgap had been created in the form of blood transfusions from the Primarchs. Cloned blood had been used at first to some effect but when they learned of it the then 5-year-old Primarchs were all willing to help there "Uncle Arik and Cousin Ghota."

As of now the Primarchs were growing quickly and mastering virtually every skill set the Emperor had them learn. Countless tutors and experts had been brought in from around the world to educate them. Each was utter masters of anything they were taught but took to their preordained specialties like leviathans to the sea.

Tyric could track a man through miles of the palace easily and hold his own against a Custodes in single combat. Dante and Konrad were mastering the art of Precognitive Combat and both Kota and Konrad could sneak through some of the low-security sections of the palace completely undetected. In turn Vulkan, Culain, and Octaviar were hard at work crafting countless new inventions for both themselves and the Imperium.

The Emperor entered the Primarchs Hall and could hear the sounds of twenty superhuman children starting their days. The Primarchs hall was a vast circular room that acted as a type of pseudo-courtyard to the Primarchs Apartments. Twenty-Two doors lead into the chamber and lined the walls of the chamber. The Center of the chamber formed a park of sorts. A green space for his sons to explore and enjoy like so many generations of Terrans had in the past.

The Emperor stood at the southern entrance overlooking it and taking a moment to watch his children play. He let out a small chuckle as he watched Miriam chase a mid-flight Dante. "Come back here, young man! You need to groom your feathers or they will get damaged." The ruffled looking Primarch tried to desperately flee his impending grooming but a pair of wings and precognitive powers were not enough to shake his Matrari (especially since she had a psychic link to him that helped tell her where he was.)

Similar events occurred across the Primarchs Hall. The Emperor let out a content sigh. The Primarchs were little like the living weapons and Warrior-Kings he had seen in the visions of the Heresy. These sons of his were Heroes in the making.

The Emperor entered the chamber and approached the congregation of children and Assai-Matari. Laughter and shouts streamed towards him as he watched. The Primarchs had not noticed their father yet, he cloaked himself in ancient stealth arts and psychic shadows in order to watch undetected.

Sensing a slight stirring in the immaterium he glanced over at Tyric focusing his mental energies into his hand. The Emperor chuckled, it was a trick the 6th Primarch had figured out a few months ago. A novel use of the Cryokinetic psychic arts that came naturally to him. Tyric had formed a snowball in his hand and prepared to surprise his older sibling Eddard who was busy eating breakfast with it.

Lowering his perception filter the Emperor appeared before his sons just in time to catch the 500kph ball of slush. As one 20(/1) voices let out a jubilant cry of "Father" The boys began to instantly jockey for his attention as they boasted accomplishments and generally acted like siblings. As they settled down the Emperor spoke to them calmly. "My sons, in one month the Martian Expedition shall begin. Before I leave I wish to spend this month with you, to see how you have all grown and developed."

The Primarchs nodded, they had known this separation was inevitable and coming soon. They had steeled themselves for this moment and were ready. No tears were to be shed for the Primarchs may have been children but they were Primarchs and knew the Emperor's reasons and that he would return to them.

The Primarchs were beyond human in many ways, including their emotions. They felt stronger purer feelings than most humans, which had contributed to the fall of the Heresy in the timeline averted. The Emperor knew not of it a side effect of there warp-touched nature or a simple quirk of the countless genecodes stitched into the Primarchs Gene-Code.

No matter the source the Emperor had spent many nights teaching his Sons an art that few sentients ever fully master. Equilibrium of Mind: a balancing of intellect and emotion designed to temper either extreme and strengthen the psyche of the practitioner. It was an ancient skill formed by Philosophy Cults at humanities height and often thought the evolution and perfection of countless meditative arts created throughout human history.

His sons had greatly benefited from this and displayed not just intellect and strength of superhuman levels but a blossoming wisdom and temperance that would hopefully allow them to become the Paragons he, no, Humanity needed. No expense had been spared to prevent there fall and the Emperor could only hope it was enough.

The Emperor continued "I am going to be more actively involved this month, my sons intend to observe you and teach you as much as I can before the next step is taken." His children nodded solemnly and went about their morning with a renewed conviction to make there Father and Assai-Matrari proud, and to prove themselves worthy of the destiny set forth before them.

The Primarchs finished their breakfast in relative peace, the Emperor's presence naturally reduced the amount of mischief they got into. Next, they moved onto the morning spar. They used the massive training arenas capable of modifying themselves to mimic countless environments built into the Palace.

So far the young Primarchs were matching an average Hykanatoi's score on most training courses and a few were even starting to match and even exceed Allarus scores. The Emperor watched them from an observation deck as his Sons battled there way through an artificial Under-Hive.

They were each whirling masses of fire and fury. Thousands of vat-grown monstrosities and cybernetic death-beasts died before the Primarchs. Each wielded weapons designed for adult mortals with practiced ease. The Emperor watched as Octaviar and Culain fought back to back against unending flesh-puppets that their bolters and Adrathics reduced to a thin paste. Alpharius and Omegon in turn disoriented and confused swarms of Murder-creatures into setting upon feral mutant tribes imported for these tests.

These and countless other sights of skill and ferocity impressed the Emperor as he watched along with the Assai Matarai and tutors observing also. The Emperor softly said,"I believe they are ready to have safeguards Alpha and Beta removed, my sons truly live up to humanities warrior spirit." Meredith Kane, Kalib's Matrari let out a soft chuckle. "They already have been, this is lethal combat sire. I believe Horus lead the effort to convince the Arena-Maesters to allow it."

The Emperor raised an eyebrow at that "Is there a reason I was not informed?" Meredith simply responded. "They ensured you weren't, I believe they want to impress you." A melodious laugh escaped the Emperor's lips. "I am impressed, such ambition, initiative, and sense of purpose. Fine then, remove safeguard Gamma as well."

The faces of nineteen mothers flickered with fear, Mary, Phillips Matrari was the one who showed no fear but calm determination. She answered the Emperor's command in her soft melodious voice: "They will succeed, these children born of your blood and spirit and raised by us are greater than any of us could have ever imagined. The Primarchs will face any challenge and triumph, I have faith in that.

The Emperor watched her confidence infect the others and felt his lips twitch in a smile. Faith the enemy of reason, his sin, and salvation in one. Millions labored under his and Uriah's instruction to harness that great force for humanities benefit. To teach the Children of Terra not to put faith in god-things or Transhumans but in each other. Mary Atimah had been a great success in that quest, now she showed her reborn faith, her faith in her son and his brothers. A faith in human potential.

With that safeguard Gamma was removed. The Arenas gravity doubled, its temperatures started to fluctuate wildly and new greater more horrific monsters were released to hunt and be hunted. The Emperor watched with a father's pride and a scientists fascination at what occurred. His sons were Warriors and they proved that fact over and over.

Baraca barely dodged a chain blade larger than him wielded by some leftover war-thing of the Techno-Barbarians. It left a nick on his armor as he jumped out of the way. The creature was right where the XII Primarch wanted it, a Web grenade detonated in the things face trapping it between two hab-structures it had been lured to. The Titanic thing was stuck and with every struggle of cloned muscle, it became more bound. When it was fully trapped Baraca decapitated it with a single strike of his blade.

Countless other displays of incredible martial skill were displayed. From Iskandar slaying a dozen War-Screamers with a single strike each. To Rogal cleaving a path straight through a Ghular pack with calm certainty. After another hour or so the morning spar was finished and the Primarchs retired to disarm and compare scores.

Eventually, they made their way to the Great Library of the Palace. This ever-growing monument to knowledge was a place of study and learning where copies of trillions of texts were stored. It was also where the Primarchs were tutored in the countless intellectual pursuits necessary for there future.

Today's lecture was about the Legio Astartes, the Space Marines. The Primarchs were expected to be as knowledgeable about there gene-sons as the greatest Gene-wright or Terrawatt Elder. The biology and capabilities of the Astartes were discussed in detail by the Ancient Sage of transhuman lore taken from Luna to teach his craft to the perfection of it.

The Emperor simply sat in the back of the lecture hall and listened with quaint amusement. This had not been the first time he had listened to a lecture being given about his creations or accomplishments. In ages past, he would often find it an interesting pastime when he was walking in the guise of academic.

The Sage started the lecture with a simple question: "The transhumans born of your genecode are formally known as the Adeptus Astartes, a title tracing its roots to Old Terran. Space Marine is typically how the term is translated into gothic or other languages but what is the original literal meaning of this name?"

Magnus piped up first: "Adeptus has the same meaning as Master, and Astartes means Stars so Masters of the Stars?" The sage chuckled softly: "a common error, young Magnus. Adept is the title of Master but Adeptus is the action. To Master, Adeptus Astartes literally means Masterers of the Stars. Much like how the Adeptus Administratum masters the imperiums government and the Adeptus Astro-Telepathica master the Astronomicon and its uses."

The Sage gestured to the twenty Primarchs and spoke with a mix of reverence and hope: "You and your Genesons were created to Master the Stars for humanity. Not as rulers or owners of the Galaxy but explorers, conquerors and defenders of humanity. An ancient Terran writer paraphrased a religious text with this famous quote.": "According to the word of God, the meek would someday inherit the earth. Someday. But God never accounted for the mighty"

"Your father seeks to ensure a Galaxy where humanity can grow and prosper under their own rule and guidance, yet the galaxy is a place of many horrors that would drive humanity to extinction or worse. You and the Astartes are the answer to that conundrum. The Mighty will protect the weak while they become rightful inheritors."

The Sage had been a good choice the Emperor thought, he knew his theory well, let's see how he does with practical. The lecture continued as the intricacies of Geneseed were discussed. Its meta-psychic nature and biological components were discussed in detail. How it linked the Astartes on both a genetic and spiritual level to there Primarch and by extension the Emperor himself. Symptoms of Warp-taint and natural degradation were discussed. Quick overviews of the 24 gene-organs were touched on, including the bloodline specific ones.

The Emperor watched as the lecture carried on until Tengri, ever the quiet one surprised the lecturer and siblings with a question: "Why does Gene-Seed reject some applicants? Shouldn't all pure-strain humans be capable of the augmentations?" The Sage simply shrugged his aged shoulders. "It is unknown why, possibly some genetic quirk but only certain populations of humans are capable of undergoing the transformation."

At that the Emperor stood up and walked into the center of the lecture hall, the Sage bowed and moved aside to allow the oldest and wisest of humanities teachers to take center stage. The Emperor remembered countless similar scenes from his history, of educating bright young minds and it brought a smile to his lips. He had forgotten how much fun it was to smile, he used to smile maybe once a decade after the Iron War, its horrors had burned much of his humanity away, now his children both living and dead had restored it to him.

In a lecturers, voice practiced and refined since he had debated Socrates the Emperor began. "You are all my children, born of my blood and soul, but not that alone. Each of you was painstakingly crafted with all my knowledge acquired over nearly Forty millennia. I used my own genome as a template but you are each unique."

As he spoke psychic images flickered through his student's minds. Of countless hours spent within secret Gene-vaults, the painstaking work was done to hybridize countless strands of DNA and imbuing said product with impossible Warp-Arts. "Each of you carries genes taken from legendary figures from human history, along with posthuman refinements unique to each of you.

*An ancient Centurion of Old Roma holds a Xeno-blade aloft*

*Five thousand cavalrymen were lead by a stunningly handsome prince*

*The Emperor and a grizzled General discussed strategy as Iron-Men singularity engines approached*

*Justice in Black clambered between spires of primitive Hives, hunting fiends and villains*

*A repentant Cognoscynths ripped out chunks of his scarlet hair in sadness as a golden-eyed warrior comforted him*

* The Wiseman lay dying in the Emperor's arms right before giving his speech"Word of the Law"*

The visions danced through the young Primarchs minds, and showed them there genetic heritage. As the memories faded the Emperor continued: "You are not just simple clones of me and as such your lineage is only compatible with individuals matching certain psycho-genetic markers. For example, Tyrics Gene-seed is far more compatible with Humans who have spliced genes, those with wild blood are much more easily accepted by his bloodline than those without."

The Primarchs nodded and processed this knowledge, Marcus ever the clever one raised his hand and asked: "So that's why some of our lineages have an easier time finding candidates. The Markers are more common for that type of gene-seed?" "Correct Marcus, your lineage, in particular, is one of the more verdant ones due to your genetic heritage in the Ancient Ultramarc League."

The lesson continued with the Primarchs learning more and more about there genetics and generous with both the Sage and the Emperor teaching. This was an overview lesson and more detail in the countless topics and intricacies of Astartes creation would be discussed eventually. After an hour or two the lecture concluded and the Primarchs adjourned for lunch. The Emperor followed them silently and thought to himself. "Oh, Children of Terra, your champions are coming."

The Primarchs day continued as usual with combat drills, Legion exercises with the first twenty, and more lessons. Another aspect of their education was a time when creativity was encouraged. Each of them engaged in an art or science they found particularly interesting. Some preferred more material arts like sculpting or smithing while some like Dante and surprisingly Moric preferring the spoken verse or composing music. (Much to his chagrin Dante's siblings often referred to his musical pieces as "Bird Song")

The Emperor spent the day watching and interacting with his sons. The long-dormant joy of being a parent crept deeper and deeper into the Master of Mankind soul. Yet still shadows of worries and his eternal burden clung to him. As he watched the young Primarchs finish their evening duties and prepare to retire he whispered softly to himself "two hundred and ten years. Hopefully enough time…"

The month sped by faster than either the Primarchs or the Emperor could wish. Every day the Primarchs impressed there Father, through intellect, martial skill, leadership and wisdom surprising for such youths. In turn, the Emperor imparted knowledge, lessons and paternal love to them in preparation for what was to come. The day of departure grew ever closer and the Emperor found himself becoming confident in his Sons. His Children of Terra were greater than he could ever hope, now it was time for him to bring the Children of Mars into the fold.


	15. Chapter 13: Children of Mars

**Chapter Thirteen: Children of Mars**

Location: Lions Gate Spaceport Primus (Under Construction)

The Last Month came to an end with a festival. A Parade of Triumph to mark the next stage of the Imperium, The Emperor flanked by a thousand Custodes marched out of the Inner Palace with Twenty Thousand Astartes and there Primarchs in full battle regalia behind them. Despite being children the Primarchs matched a large Terran Male in size and walked alongside there Gene-Sons in this great procession.

Millions of Mortals watched this Parade from the sides of the grand parade avenue that stretched from the Inner Palace to the Lions Gate. The constant cheering formed a roar of such magnitude some unfinished parts of the Palace great macro-structure started to vibrate from the noise. The onlookers ranged from Old Terran Nobles on Grav-perches flitting about to swarms of menial workers from the palaces construction. Each and everyone of them screamed there throats raw at the sight of unity incarnates arrival.

The Conqueror of Terra marched in front of his Legions, he radiated power, nobility, and wisdom. All who witnessed him felt his raw might, yet none knew fear for this power that could end worlds and battle gods was their protector, the countless millions who watched knew the Master of Mankind had come and with him a new age, an age of heroes and hope.

Thunderbolt Flags and sigils of Terran Unity flew proudly and behind him, Twenty Banners marked each with a single Ancient Numeral flew next to his Sons. As he marched the Emperor thought to himself how soon enough both of those flags would be changed, as they walked the shining path. The Twin Headed Aquila would be born and each simple Numeral would be replaced with a Legion Badge, both would go down in human history as sigils of unity and salvation.

Chiding himself the Master of Mankind knew that was still a long way off and many trials still yet awaited him before even that step could be taken. First and foremost was Mars. The Red Planet had long been the technological center of humanity. Even after the insanity of the Iron War and the brutal Data-weapons first developed and deployed on Mars the second home of humanity endured and existed as a center of both knowledge and machines.

Multiple Martian expeditions had come to Terra in order to scavenge resources and relics throughout the Unification Wars and had not taken kindly to the Emperor informing them there looting was no longer tolerated. The survivors now served excellently, and the salvage claimed from the fallen salvagers had provided excellent materials for the Astartes Arsenal. He may have gained knowledge of countless technological development from the message but not the ability to create materials or components out of thin air.

Even with their superhuman size, the Legions took multiple Hours to reach the Lions Gate from the Inner Palace. As they Parade came to its triumphant conclusion at the Lions Gate Starport. Here the Emperor's Chariot of the Stars was docked: The Bucephalus. It was a colossal vessel, measuring twenty kilometers in length. Every square inch of the mighty flagship was a mastercrafted work of art.

Five years ago the Ancient Vessel had been unearthed from its secret vault of Yum-hanger and its repairs had begun. Little over five thousand years ago in the guise of an eccentric businessman the Emperor had commissioned the vessel from the forges of Mars during the height of the Age of Technology. It had cost enough credits to buy a few star systems but it had been more than worth it. The master crafted vessel lacked any onboard AI's and contained some of the finest technology that coin, influence and psychic powers could buy.

Without an onboard AI, the vessel had been a very expensive and well-maintained Space-Hulk. Aside from its basic life support systems none of the vessels functions worked. At the time of its creation, it had been a source of much speculation among the Engineers and Silica-forms of Mars. The Emperor had commissioned the vessel as one of the countless contingencies against a possible AI uprising he had seen visions of. It had survived unharmed throughout the Old Night and its hanger acted as the base of operations for the Emperor early in the Unification Wars and now after years of modification and repairs by Terrawatt Clan members and captured Martians it was ready to sail the stars.

At the Parades end the Emperor stood in front of the colossal vessels gantry and watched the Twenty Primarchs approach. They knelt as one before there father and he spoke to them softly "The universe has many horrors yet to throw at us, my Sons. This is just the next step upon the shining path. You are all so young, yet so incredible already. Each of you will become legends to rival mine as we unify the Children of Terra. Be faithful! Be strong! Be vigilant my children! I will return to you and when I do the Galaxy awaits!"

As each of them absorbed his message an individualized psychic pulse touched each of the Primarchs minds, final farewells and well wishes from there Father. At that, the Primarchs stood, were embraced by there father and left to rejoin there Legions. The Emperor watched them go with a mix of pride and somber joy. It might be a few weeks or a few years (his visions and estimates varied) till he saw them in person again. Till then both Father and Sons had duties to undertake.

After a short speech to the assembled millions, the Emperor boarded The Bucephalus. The vessel was fully crewed by handpicked Terrawatt Void-Magi, countless Palatial Menials and a quarter of the Custodes. With the Hetaeron Guard at his back, the Master of Mankind journeyed to the Bridge of the great vessel. Thanks to great internal mag-lifts the journey that would have taken hours was minutes in length.

The Bridge was a colossal thing filled with thousands of officers, crew, and adepts. Yet this number seemed a skeleton crew compared to what a vessel such as this should need. For once launched the Bucephalus's true power would be revealed. As one the bridge crew bowed before the Emperor as he entered. He walked to the command throne of the vessel and spoke to the lead Void-Magi, a genius of ancient stalk by the name of Antoanar Picrard. "Is it ready Antoanar?" the Emperor asked.

Twitching with excitement the Magi bowed ever lower and spoke "Yes my liege, the device has been installed exactly to your specifications, and all functions are operating as expected. The Bucephalus is void worthy and ready for your command!" At that, the Emperor signaled the crew to be at ease and he prepared to take his seat upon the command throne of his new flagship. As he did thousands of eyes watched him take his place upon the seat of power and felt an unwanted ghoulish recollection/vision of a future not to be.

*an ancient friend crumbles to dust at the softest touch as the last kernel of energy arcs through our bond.*

*placed upon the throne/tomb by the somber Praetorian*

* Final words given life through the Hero spoken to the Praetorian and Warhawk.*

*The Galaxy burns and We are a corpse-king on a throne of lost knowledge holding back the dark*

The Emperor dismissed the future-memories and reached out with his psychic power. The throne hummed softly as the experimental Psi-conduits glowed with his power. He channeled his power through them and into the thing dwelling inside the vessels core. With a gentle psychic pulse, the heart of the Imperium Flagship awoke.

During the Age of Strife, the Emperor had sought countless solutions to the malities that afflicted humanity and the galaxy. The Imperium was not the first but the only one that might be able to stem the coming horrors. Some of these plans had produced tools that would, however, assist the Emperor Ambition. One of these tools had been installed into the Bucephalus and now stirred. The Cognatu-Ferrum had awoken.

Psychic energy poured into the machine and its great crystalline circuits started to light up as if it were being awoken from some endless dream the first Machine Spirit was activated. In a voice that sounded like an Echo of the Emperors own the Machine spoke "Master….? Is it time…..?" in a psionic binary pulse the machines creator and owner answered, "Yes, it is time to visit your siblings upon the Dragons Tomb."

With that acknowledgment, psychic energy poured out of the machine into every corner of the colossal vessel. Generators activated, life support systems cycled up, weapon platforms started to hum and the Bucephalus came to life. The Cognatu-Ferrum had been born during the height of the Iron War when Silica monstrosities driven mad by both the Dragon of Mars and the Warps touch brought ruin to humanities stellar empire. It was an attempt to create a mechanical intelligence not susceptible to the taint of either steel or flesh.

The Emperor had succeeded, it was a wonder of both science and warpcraft that was infused with Psychic energy that made it invisible to the Dragons power and its digital mind was built around a mixture of modified neural scans and the Thirteen Asimov-Zuklove Laws. It was immune to the Warps corruption and the Dragons Control while possessing capabilities matching a lowgrade ASI.

Despite all its wonders, the Cognatu-Ferrum had one critical weakness: Power supply. The Machine required a truly tremendous supply of highly controlled psychic energy and storing such power was an impossibility for human technology. So in the end despite countless refinements and tweaks the First and Greatest Machine Spirit was the only of its make and only operable by its creator.

Now that Machines intellect and power flowed through the Bucephalus and it was ready to fly. At the Emperor's command, ancient grav-generators activated and as millions of onlookers cheered the twenty-kilometer vessel gently rose into Terras Skies. Careful to not cause colossal atmospheric disturbances the Titan sailed serenely into low orbit, and the Emperor looked through the Cognatu-Ferrums eyes and saw the shrinking Imperial Palace below them. He touched his son's minds with a final farewell and peered into the void. Mars awaited him and the galaxy awaited the Imperium of man.

Moving at velocities once thought impossible to a Ship its size the Bucephalus cruised out of Terra's gravity well and plotted a vector for Mars. Its colossal Plasma drives increased in power and the Emperor felt the Cognatu-Ferrum making near instantaneous adjustments to the city-sized vessel as they accelerated to a low fraction of LightSpeed. Ancient artificial gravity generators compensated for the ever-increasing G-forces and if not for the celestial bodies moving in the view-screens one would have a hard time telling the ship was even moving.

After a few seconds of flight, the ship passed close to Luna, even from here, the Emperor could detect the slight gap within the Warp located upon Luna's Surface. Within a requisitioned Lunar watch-fort dozens of Psychic Nulls trained. The women who would eventually from the Anathema Pskyana had been gathered from both Luna and Terra throughout the Unification Wars.

Countless abominable experiments both during and before Old Night had given the Sol System a higher than galactic average rate of Pariah Gene holders. The Emperor had briefly considered wiping them out, the nature and origin of the Gene was one of the many mysteries he still sought to unravel and his suspicions about its origins worried him, but for now, they were far too useful and loyal to deserve such a fate.

As Luna passed by and the void beckoned the Emperor muttered to himself a phrase once carved upon the entrance gate of the first Port Luna "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind" only Valdor was within earshot and he simply nodded slightly and the Emperor smiled softly.

The First of the Ten Thousand had embraced the role of the warrior more than most of the Custodes and the Emperor could hardly blame him. Valdor had fought by the Emperor's side since he had been born from a Flesh-Forge within the Emperor's Himalazian stronghold. He had been built from the ground up as a masterwork of Gene-crafting the Emperor had only been able to improve on twice. With Taranis, whose abilities had come at a cost and the Primarchs.

Eventually, Terra and Luna became specks within the ships viewport and The Emperor probed the Cognatu-Ferrum to ensure all systems were functional. It passed with flying colors and the Emperor left the Command Throne, his psychic power still feeding into the Vessel through the countless Psi-filament circuits that acted as the ships nervous system. With Valdor in tow, the Emperor went to speak with one of the maiden voyages passengers.

He found the passenger staring out the main-view port of the vessel into the void. The passenger was practically pressed up against the Titan-sized view-hole and the Emperor could tell his enhanced senses were locked into a small red dot not visible to the naked eye. The Emperor couldn't blame him, it was the nature of all humans lost in the wilderness to seek there home.

Throughout the unification wars, numerous Martian expeditions to Terra had been captured by the Emperor. Most of these were primitive things lead by a particularly desperate, insane or foolish Tech-Priest and had been dealt with easily. There Automata were recycled, there weapons and tools were confiscated, and most of the Tech-Priests had been agreed to serve after speaking with the Emperor. The ones who hadn't met the unpleasant fate of having scores of Terrawatt clan members and even former Mechanicum members dissect every aspect of there being in search of technological secrets.

That was the typical pattern, the passenger had been the leader of one of those hunts for archeotech, but he had been anything but typical. An entire Skitarii Maniple, two Knight-Walkers and a few squads of Legio Cybernetica brazenly landed near one of the early capitals of the Imperium and attacked it in search of a stasis-vault of technology the Emperor had declared off limits yet too valuable to destroy. This surgical strike was not the haphazard salvage run but a retrieval operation. The Thunder Warriors had crushed the Skitarii utterly and the leader of the expedition had been captured alive. That leader now stood before the Emperor, A Tech-Priest known as Belisarius Cawl.

Cawl was a brilliant and extremely dangerous Tech-Priest who had been slated for execution due to his crime of data-predation, blasphemy, unsanctioned-augmentation, and attempted the assassination of higher-ranking servants of the Machine God. When his assassination attempt on his Master failed and a punitive force closed in on his position Cawl had activated a Backdoor he had built into the Forge he worked in. About half of the cybernetic and mechanical forces of his former home along with numerous allies rebelled and escaped with him to Terra.

Seeking an advantage over the vengeance of the Martian priesthood and possibly a way to buy his way back into there good fortunes he came to Terra in order to claim a particular artifact. Cawl had scoured records and long distances scans to find the location of the infamous Meme-Virus Primarium.

This fusion of warp and nanite technology from the Golden Age allowed accesses to all knowledge possessed Meme-Virus infectees. This prime-virus would have allowed Cawl to not only vastly increase his own wisdom but infect foes with it and not just steal there knowledge but turn them into data-addicts ever feeding his memory banks. Ironically Cawl had never intended to use it in its most malignant ways and only intended to use it as a token of peace with Mars.

Thankfully he had been stopped and captured. The Emperor had met with him and Cawl had simply looked upon the Emperor once before he started begging for the right to serve him. The Emperor had poured through the mind and soul of the tech-priest and found a soul of unfathomable curiosity and conviction. Cawl wanted to elevate himself and his species with the knowledge of the cosmos and the Emperor was reminded of ancient friends and allies of a long extinct order of knowledge seekers.

The Scientists had gone extinct with the Iron War and now only cults of data and machinery existed in there place but Cawl and like-minded individuals brought the Emperor hope of maybe a return to humanities inquisitive roots. When he had been captured Cawl had expected a barbarian tyrant seeking to bully him into service, any being that called itself the "Emperor of Mankind" had to be.

Belisarius had been utterly shocked when the being he had met, not the brutish gene-bulked thug he had expected but a Man of Purpose and intellect beyond Cawls wildest dream-protocols. Many on Mars accused Cawl of being a lunatic, a renegade unable to accept his place in the cosmos and serve his betters and the Deus Mechanica properly. This was not exactly the case.

Cawl had honestly wanted to be a good servant of the Machine God for as long as he could remember, his faith comprised a core tenet of his belief and serving the source of knowledge and wisdom was his only true ambition. The problem had been the Mechanicum did not measure up to Cawls self-imposed standards. They were a bickering dogmatic group of knowledge hoarding egomaniacs. Belisarius Cawl had simply wanted to serve a master he deemed worthy, none on Mars had been but he had found one of Terra.

The Emperor and Cawl had quickly grown to admire each other and a working relationship between the two had formed. After decades of service, he had earned the Emperor's trust and had been even allowed to work on the Primarch Project. He had been responsible for numerous breakthrough on the Black Carapace and even tutored the Primarchs on numerous occasions. Now side by side they were returning after to Mars after nearly a Century.

They did not speak to each other, Cawl had barely seemed to notice the Emperor and acknowledged his presence with a quick bow. The two of them simply stared into the void as the Red dot in the distance slowly grew. The once multi-year journey would take only a few hours and that was with the Bucephalus flying at low power to not attract the attention of the countless Xeno Raiders stalking Sol. The Flagship could fight off virtually anything that could attack them but the Emperor did not want to risk a full-blown battle before what was supposed to be a diplomatic mission.

Eventually, the Emperor spoke to Cawl: "They might not accept you back like you hope." The Tech-priest simply responded: "I will face the Judgment of Mars if that is to be my fate." It was, in an alternate reality the Emperor had been forced to hand his ally over to the Mechanicum as part of the Treaty of Olympus, he had managed to get Cawls sentence commuted to the first of his many Memory wipes instead of execution but he hoped like many things, that Cawls fate could be changed.

Speaking softly the Emperor continued: " I have seen it, they will demand your execution and I will only be able to save your life, not your mind." To that Cawl seemed slightly shocked but he returned to the mechanical stoicism typical of his kind. The sudden hum of Cawls Atmosphere intake suggested he was doing the Mechancium equivalent of taking a deep breath before speaking. "I have planned for such even my Lord, within my Lab there is a data-core activated by the biometrics of you or one of the Primarchs. It contains a data program I call the Cawl Inferior. Consider it a contingency if such a fate occurs."The Emperor's eyes widened and visions of possible futures entered his mind.

*An avenging son stalking the ruins of the palace seeking any means to undo what has been done*

*Hidden laboratory discovered and a secret uncovered. Communications with a group of refugees from Trisolian open up new possibilities*

*The Master of Masters is reborn and travels the galaxy in search of knowledge, his inferior hoarding memories and thoughts to be stored in case of calamity*

Smiling softly the Emperor responded "You never cease to impress me Cawl" the Tech-Priest bowed low and responded "You honor me with such words my Lord" After that, they simply stood next to each other as Mars grew in the viewport. The Colossal Ring of Iron was now barely visible and the Emperor was reminded of ages past when under his prodding humanity had reached for the stars and first came to Mars. It had been one of his more oddly named identities but still highly successful in helping humanity advance.

Soon millions of challenge hails from Mars and its countless orbital installations. The Emperor ordered them all to be answered with a simple message in perfect High Techna-Lingua. "We are the Imperium of Man, we seek to meet with the Mechanicum of Mars for peaceful contact" Billions of Weapon Platforms locked onto the Bucephalus yet none fired. The Emperor subtly influenced the trillions of machine spirits preparing to attack his ship to stand down as they approached Mars.

The Twenty-kilometer vessel soon pressed into the upper atmosphere of the Red Planet and the heat of the ship caused rolling storm clouds to form almost instantaneously as it slowly lowered towards the surface of Olympus Mons. The Emperor and Cawl nodded to each other and the Emperor made way to the main gantry of the Bucephalus. As he did he psychically pulsed one of his personal servants to bring a certain item to him. The Handmaiden along with two bulky armory-servitors (gifts from Cawl) met him. She bowed and the Emperor handed his blade to the Servitors and she gave him his Sceptre: The Augustus Xexillium.

He was coming not as a Warrior-King but as a figure of unification and his symbol of office would be more fitting than a weapon of war. Finally, the Imperial Flagship, covered in storm clouds touched the surface of Mars and the Emperor walked down the gantry and set foot upon the second home of the Human Species.

The Emperor looked across the Crater that formed the inverted peak of Olympus Mons and smiled internally, so far it lined up with his visions and future memories. Tens of thousands of Priests, Skitarii and Servitors watched from the crater's rim and about half a Dozen Knight-Walkers were in combat positions around the exit ramp. Slowly stepping towards the first Knight the Emperor touched his mind and spoke:

'Your machine is damaged, Taymon Verticorda,' the pilot mind was overtaxed by being in the Emperor's presence and was not capable of forming a complete sentence let alone attacking. Speaking again the Emperor asked 'May I?'

Not waiting for a reply the Master of Mankind reached out to touch the Walkers knee joint while working to keep his presence from utterly overwhelming the pilot. Controlling his aura had been one of the first skills the Emperor had mastered when he left his village after killing his uncle. Over the eons as both his power and embedment into the human subconscious increased the effects of his psychic light had become more pronounced. At first, it simply transfixed and soothed Humans who viewed it, now it could cause strokes if he was not careful.

The minute he touched the Knight-Walker he could feel the machines pseudo-soul. Along with telekinetically healing and realigning the machine's parts, he soothed what the Martians called a Machine Spirit. Speaking with a voice that could make entire worlds kneel if he so wished he spoke to the Knight. 'Machine, heal thyself,'

It followed its masters wish and the Knight-Walker was returned to perfection. Still stunned the pilot asked quietly: "'Who are you?'

The being known across the ages as Atham, Revelation, Yeshua, Abriel, Gilgamesh and so many more names declared himself a title only he could ever truly claim 'I am the Emperor'

That simple phrase would be repeated countless times by Atham of Pessinus throughout his conquest of the stars and the response he received was not the first nor the last of its kind 'Welcome to Mars, my lord, All praise to the Omnissiah.'

Omnissiah: The Physical manifestation of the God in the Machine. A mythological figure of Mars that rose out of the same trauma and horror that created the Cult Mechanicus. Mars had once been the technological and industrial powerhouse of humanity. This made the rebellion and Old Night all that much more horrific. The War against the Machines had damaged its people in ways more severe than practically anywhere else in the countless domains of man.

The multiple Martian apocalypses of the Iron War and the Singularity Purging deleted not just the ASI silica-gods of the Neurosphere but the Standard template constructs databases. Basic knowledge of even maintenance became rare. Yet the survivors scavenged the corpse of the greatest manufacturing and research world of humanity to jury-rig new technology and machinery through a mix of trial, error and sheer luck.

Over the centuries this credo of mechanical reverence, superstitious paranoia, and genuine genius consolidated into the Priesthood of Mars. This strange cult managed to rebuild the surface and topmost layers of the Red Planet into a working Forge World. They had also managed to send colonial expeditions to other fallen Forges across the galaxy in order to rebuild and reignite them.

The Martians considered themselves the rightful inheritors of the Machine God's will and destined to reach the perfect union of steel and soul. This was more than simple self-ordained manifest destiny. The Martians through some quirk of fate, or possibly natural selection had discovered one of the few avenues of technology still open to humanity after the calamities of the Iron War. The Martian Mechanicum had discovered how to make and harness Machine Spirits.

They were different and far far more primitive than the work of art known as the Cognatu-Ferrum. Where the Emperor had installed a soul echo into a machine to create a Psi-AI protected from both Warp and Dragon the Martians had grown mutilated chunks of brains and used them as computational units.

Since the discoveries of both the Soul and Stable Cloning, a debate had raged throughout human civilization on whether a clone would possess a soul. Numerous rather grizzly studies conducted during the Golden Age had answered these questions and started the Replicae Rights movement. Clones do indeed have souls but they were lesser than the originals. A colleague of the Emperor had described it as "a faded copy of the original"

Yet they still had souls and when the Martians started using cloned tissue to replace silicon and circuitry they inadvertently created billions if not trillions of lobotomized souls that infested the machinery and subtly influenced them. These aptly named Machine Spirits protected whatever they inhabited from the Dragons dominion and they were such broken things that only the most driven Neverborn could latch onto the pseudo-emotions they felt to control them. Even then layers of ritual, belief and half-understood warding equations protected the Machine Spirits.

The Mechanicum may have been flawed but they were the rightful heirs they claimed to be. Similarly, the Emperor did have a claim to the title the Knight Pilot had called him. Ages ago he had bested the true Machine God and sealed it beneath Mars surface to help his species master the Material. While his connection to humanities Oversoul and existence as the ward of the faithful dead made him beloved to the Machine Spirits. The Emperor was the Omnissiah and he had come to Mars.

The Knight-Walker and the rest of its squad formed an Honor Guard around the Emperor as they left the crater. More and more citizens of Mars joined the procession. Soon thousands followed the Emperor in a grand river of Mechanicum Red and cybernetic grey. Binary whispers filled the air and a few particularly brave Priests moved in between the Knights legs to catch a better view of the Golden Stranger.

Each of them reported back to there cadres and workmates that what they had seen had to be the Omnissiah. This climaxed when a brash Tech-priest whose barely earned Surface lung implants rasped with the effort of filtering Mars atmosphere rushed up to the Emperor and touched his cloak as if it ensure it was real. A Knight leveled its weapons against her and she fell back in fear, her rapture replaced with horror at what she had done. The Emperor stopped and helped the young women to her feet and gestured for the knight to stand down.

She twittered countless apologies and prayers in binary while trying to back into the crowd. The Emperor touched her shoulder, a soft glow filled the women's vision and her cybernetic lungs inhaled a deep quiet breath of Martian Air. Internally the Emperor sighed and thought "Another cult, another miracle, another punishment for my mistake"

He intensely disliked it but centuries of trying to harness humanity obsession with faith had made the Emperor very good at playing the savior. Eventually, the Mechanicum would be subtly reformed to become a better breed of institute, not shackled by dogma and superstition. Yet now first things first. The Parliament of Mars awaited.

The First of the Knights crested the Craters edge and with each step, the skyline of Tharsis became more and more visible. The great industrial Forge-Cityscape spread to the horizon and as he finally exited the crater the Emperor diluted and expanded his Aura into a golden corona visible from low orbit. Another touch to help the coming negotiations.

The first knight, the one who the Emperor had healed stopped. The Emperor could feel the Walkers machine spirits swarming into its Vox and Hailer systems as the pilot redirected power into them. In a shout that ruined unaugmented eardrums in five square kilometers, the Knight known as the Ares Lictor broadcasted its message. "Hail! Children of Mars! The Omnissiah has come!"

With that, the procession continued and swelled millions of Martians of all walks of life joined the throng in hopes to catch a glimpse of the Omnissiah. Religious fervor brought on by the Emperor's aura stopped any attempts to attack or waylay the parade and slowly but surely the Emperor of Mankind reached the Temple of All Knowledge.

The Martian Holy of Holies was carved into Olympus Mon and its grand gate reached nearly a kilometer in height. On either side of the Temple-Caverns entrance where Super-Titans. In another existence, they would be known as Imperator Titans, in honor of him. As of now the Twin behemoths that were nearly half the gates height were aiming City-devastating Weapons at the Emperor. With an imperceivable psychic pulse, the brutal Machine Spirits of the two titans submitted to there master and to there Preceps shock the Titans each knelt before him.

Flanked by the supplicant God-Machines the Emperor of mankind entered the Temple of All Knowledge. Within a year he would exit the grand sanctuary with a first copy of the Treaty of Olympus Mons in hand. Unified at last the Children of Terra and Mars would stand together in the face of a galaxy of woes.


	16. Chapter 14: Tales from the Palace

Chapter Fourteen: Tales from the Palace and Beyond (First Half)

Part I: The Haunting of the Imperial Palace

Three Months after the Emperor left for Mars.

It started small at first, strange shadows, whispers in the dark, night terrors among the menials. To the residents of the Imperial Palace nothing was wrong, just more grist for the rumor mill ever present among servants. Stories of ghosts and monsters wandering the halls late at night and doing unspeakable things to those unlucky enough to be caught by them. This all changed when the first body was discovered.

Deaths were not uncommon within the palace, from natural, accidental or violent causes. So normally a corpse showing up in an inner palace construction site might warrant a senior Arbities investigation or even a Custodes involvement if it was close enough to a place of importance. This was an anything but normal case.

Gotfiar Yeon had been an upstanding and loyal servant of the Imperium and no amount of digging revealed anything about him that made his fate seem in any way just. The construction foreman for Mid-palace construction zone 491-12.1 was found gruesomely butchered and displayed in his former work site.

His skin had been flayed and stretched into a horrific banner of pain. 74% of his bones had been broken into new and distorted positions and blood splatter could be found in a nearly fifty feet radius of the body. Yet arguably worse of all, his face had been perfectly unharmed by the actions and he was easily recognizable to his friends and colleagues who discovered him. The expression he wore was one of utter primal terror that rigor mortis had stretched taught.

The brutality and dramatic nature of both death and body display almost instantly caught the attention of a multiple Imperial Agencies all trained to watch for markers of Chaotic Activity. The Emperor had been extremely thorough in his destruction of Terra's taint but being too thorough is an impossibility when dealing with the Great Enemy.

Eyes of both Malcador and the Emperor soon swarmed the crime scene and despite the finest minds and equipment, the Imperium had to offer no answers could be found. It was almost as if the shadows themselves had killed the poor man. The Investigation was still in full swing when the second murder occurred. It did not stop there, every few days the increasingly worried Agents of the Imperium would receive new reports and still were no closer to their goal. Soon the murders seemingly committed by no one started whispers of a ghost within the palace.

Every few days another random individual, from menial to High-adept was plucked away and butchered. Inhabitants of the place started to report sightings of what they described as "Living shadows" stalking the palace and sightings increased shortly before or after an incident. The palace was in a constant state of turmoil and the Custodes hunted the being that dared to defile their masters home. Little did they or anyone else know the source of the horrors slept badly deep within the Inner Palace.

Ever since his Father had left the regularity and intensity of Konrad Cruze's nightmare increased. Soon the Eighth son of the Emperor was turned into a gaunt wreck of himself, sleep deprivation and trauma were taking their toll. His performance in academics started to slip but his combat performance actually improved, yet in disturbing ways. Konrad was no longer the calculating master of shadows but an ugly terror-inducing gutter fighter.

His brothers attempted to help in their own ways. Tyric, Kalib, and Magnus all independent of each other snuck into his quarters to place wards against evil spirits, witches, and the warp respectively. It worked for a while but eventually, they burnt out from the phenomenon's intensity.

So far the only being capable of stopping the Nightmares was Konrads Father, in The Emperor's absence, his Matrari attempted to use her powers to help. Theresa Nellie was one of the most powerful Empaths ever discovered. She could not just feel emotions of others but manipulate them on a massive scale. Nellie had been enslaved from a young age by a minor Terran Warlord, since the day of her kidnapping she had plotted the tyrant's downfall.

Slowly she magnified the negative emotions of her captives lieutenants to drive each and everyone insane or lose their masters favor. Theresa's actions had weakened the Warlord enough that the still young Imperium could conquer the fiefdom. At first, she prepared to do the same to the oncoming Legion. Yet when she saw the Man at the lead of the army she realized what was coming was not just another form of damnation, but salvation carrying a thunderbolt.

In an act of vengeance for all she had been forced to do and for her family butchered at the Warlords hands she magnified his sense of guilt a few billion times over. The once cruel grasping tyrant ordered his strongholds defenses lowered. He ran out the front gate blubbering like an infant and begged for death. His request was granted and Theresa had been recruited by Malcador and eventually was chosen for her position due to her powers being able to effectively counter some of Konrads if they went haywire.

So far she had limited success and managed to keep Konrad relatively sane and stop his psychic powers from driving have the menial staff of the inner palace mad with fear. Now simply whatever was butchering them was. The Nightmares got only worse as time went on and the murders more frequent and brutal.

Eventually, Malcador realized there had to be some sort of connection between the nightmares Konrad refused to speak of and the murders. He had seen the memories of the broken evil thing that the Four had intended to twist him into and the crimes being committed stunk of that Cruze. The Sigillite did not want to consider it but he must, it was becoming increasingly likely that this Cruze was more akin to his counterpart then thought possible.

Malcador requested an Ephori Custodes keep secret watch over Konrad Curze. Soon a particularly masterful walker of shadows stalked the Emperor's Eighth son with none the wiser. After a week or two sightings of the ghost reached an all-time high and the Watcher prepared for whatever would come. The next morning the Primarch Quarter was awoken by screaming.

They found Konrad curled into a ball in one of his apartments halls. He was slick with blood and the Ephori lay twitching in a puddle of his ichor that was smeared onto the Eighth Son. Despite his Matarai and his brother's protests, Konrad was spirited away to some of Malcadors secret chambers and the body was investigated.

The Custodes had died much cleaner than the others, the hallway showed the reasons. He had dueled something and lost. It had not been an execution like the others but a battle. As Konrad waited under guard from a full complement of Palace Guards and Custodes. Malcador, the three of the five Tribunes on terra and Arik Taranis watched the helm footage of the Custodes. He had been a diligent servant of the Emperor and recorded the entire fight, and when he realized he was outmatched prioritized footage quality over his own survival.

They watched as the Custodes rushed from his hiding place to the door outside of Konrad's quarters. Secretly placed sensors both arcane and otherwise had been triggered and they watched through his eyes as a pool of oily shadow oozed out from under the door.

It noticed the Custodes and turned into a mass of blades and smoke. The Custodes barely had time to block and was slowly peeled apart by the supernatural thing. The touch of the warp prevented his call from help and the Custodes resigned to his faith and prepared to die protecting the Emperor's sons. The fight finished and the shadow lurched forward for the kill and between the folds of shadow and smoke, Malcador saw something that sent a chill down his aged spine.

Peering out from the creature's heart was a face, a horribly familiar face. Its hair was black and matted with gore, the skin was waxy and dead looking. Each tooth looked jagged and fang-like and its eyes… by the Lightning Bolt, its eyes were the dead black of an ancient Carcharodon. It was a face of a forgotten future, it was the Konrad Curze of Nostromo.

The custodes was impaled and then slowly slid off the creatures blade/arms as it looked on with a sickening grin. Suddenly like a flickering hololith, it faded from being and shortly after a wild-eyed child-Konrad entered the hallway and fell to his knees in horror. Softly Malcador said "I have seen enough, we must go to Konrad"

With an irate Theresa in tow, they joined the sobbing Konrad and Theresa ran to the blood-soaked child and held him as Malcador quietly approached. Malcador took a dataslate form a servant and pulled up the image of the other Cruze. He set it before the shaking child and asked gently "Do you know who that is?"

A mix of fear, guilt, hate, and misery passed through the young Primarch and with a trembling voice said: "He said he will kill you all if I tell him, that while father is gone none can stop him."

Placing a soft hand on Konrad's shoulder Malcador used his own formidable power to ease the child's heart and pulsed Theresa to do the same. The Sigillite continued "Your Uncle Malcador has seen and done a lot over the Millenia. The thing that is scaring you is a lie given form. It hides and ambushes those weaker than it. It barely won against a single Custodes and tried to avoid that battle. That thing can do nothing to me, your brothers or Theresa. You have my word we'll stop it from hurting anyone else."

Calming down slightly Konrad took a deep breath and said in a shuddering whisper "He came to me in dreams after Father left, I had dreamt about him before but it had been liking watching a Pictcast, this… this was really being with him. He said he was me, what I was going to become. He said I was going to become him, the Night Haunter"

Malcador was both relieved and horrified. Konrad was not born a monster but one had latched onto his soul and was hard at work corrupting him. If this being was truly what it claimed and what Malcador feared, then it would be difficult to dislodge. Konrad was taken back by Theresa to clean up and rest for the coming ordeal. The Imperial Palace was indeed haunted, haunted by a ghost of futures prevented. Now it was the duty of the Lord Sigillite to exorcise it.

A week later after vigorous preparation, Malcador returned with Eight heavily armored women who caused shivers to dance along the spine of any who got to close. These were not the Sisters of Silence, but the seeds that would grow into that mighty order. Konrad had been kept in a medicated coma for most of the week. Malcador had correctly deduced the apparition was connected to the young Primarchs dreams. The drugs used kept him from dreaming and Theresa sat by his bedside night and day soothing his transhuman mind as much as her considerable powers allowed.

Malcador entered flanked by the Eight Women and Theresa nearly jumped out of her chair and scrambled to put herself in front of her adopted child. Her psychic nature told her exactly what the Women were and she assumed the worse. "Do not hurt him Malcador! I swear on Konrads Father I will hound you to ends of the galaxy if you dare unleash… THEM on him"

The Women looked at each other a mixture of dark amusement and resignation to there nature flickered over there stoic faces and Malcador spoke. "Calm yourself, my dear, they are here to protect not destroy. I do not know how strong the Warp phenomena will be and want to keep everyone safe."

Theresa Nellie relaxed at that and asked the loaded question that had plagued her for a week "What's going on and what do you intend to do?"

Somberness spread across Malcadors face as he explained. "A warp entity of remarkable power has latched onto his soul, I can not tell you the details for his safety but this being possesses a power link to Konrad within the Warp and has used him as a gate to enter our realm."

Theresa's eyebrows rose as she responded "I thought even the most Psychically active Primarchs were protected from such things? The soulbond and their father's blood should protect them. How is this occurring?"

"Like I said this being possesses an incredible psychic bond with him and its peculiar nature allowed it to slip past the protections."

Malcador privately thought "It always seems to be the loophole, the webway project could survive the full might of the Four but not a Primarchs. The Primarchs warding could keep out any taint except them…"

Continuing to Theresa Malcador spoke: "This being must be exorcised to save him. I possess the power to do so but I fear it would damage him. It would be like setting fire to a building to drive out the vermin. So another solution must be reached."

He walked up to the sleeping child and placed a hand on his forehead. "I will empower him to cast it out. The Emperor made it very clear anything done to the Primarch in his absence requires both mine and their Matrari's consent. Do you?"

Frowning for a split second she quickly responded: "You are held in the Emperor's highest trust so you are in mine well."

Malcador nodded softly and reached into the Primarchs mind. A bit of biomancy removed the drug's effects, he needed to dream for this. Soon Malcador found himself somewhere dark, a filthy shadowy place he recognized from data slates long ago and the Emperor's future memories. Malcador was on Nostromo: The Dark World.

He heard a slight noise and the wizened psyker strode down the streets encrusted with blood, piss, and excrement to the source of the sound. Malcador recognized it soon as a child crying and soon found a filthy child hiding in a dark alley. He recognized the features and realized the urchin covered in grime was Konrad Curze. The child looked up at him and Malcadors blood ran cold. This was not his Konrad.

Grinning sadistically a thing made of knives and shadows started to peel out of the child's skin. A wet giggle escaped its throat as it loomed over Malcador "My, my dear Fathers favorite pet comes a calling! Where is the old...older man anyway? Loose his spawn again or abandon them for the good of humanity?"

Malcador mustered his psychic will and shielded himself from the beings corrosive power before responding harshly "You know as well as I do you only dared to rear your feted head with him off world. Ever the coward aren't you Cruze?"

The Thing chuckled mirthlessly "Oh I am not Konrad, he is long gone. He took the assassin's blade in a pitiable attempt to earn forgiveness. Me, I took the blade to vindicate what we had always said. That the Imperium was made by murder and despite its lofty goals would still need us or things like us."

Snarling softly Malcador raised his staff and let it flair with power as spoke "So the rumors were true, this planet broke you into two. Konrad Curze rests with that Emperor's light. It is time to send the Night Haunter back to the pit it belongs"

Before the first blows could be struck a blast of dust and silver exploded before them, the Night Haunter recoiled and a hand pulled Malcador away from it. The old man could barely keep up with the frantic child who pulled him through side streets until they reached a filth stained version of Konrad's room in reality. Malcador had been brought into the Eight primarchs hiding place within his own mind.

The frantic child started speaking impossibly quickly "UNCLE MALCADOR YOU CAN"T BEAT HIM NOTHING WORKS HE JUST COMES BACK THE NIGHT HAUNTER ALWAYS COMES BACK"

Malcador calmed the child and said, "Yes you are correct Konrad I cannot defeat him, but you can."

Konrad was dumbstruck before Malcador continued "That thing is a parasite latched onto your mind. It is powerful but it is your mind and you control it. Right now you are too young and inexperienced to beat it. Yet I am old and experienced. I will give you all the tools needed to remove it and you will save yourself, Konrad."

Panic and confusion momentarily blossomed over the Eight Primarchs face but he was his Father's son and resolution soon filled him. Nodding slowly he agreed and Malcador placed his hand on Konrad's forehead. A Blast of energy shook the dreamscape and where once had stood a young Konrad and an elderly Malcador was a single being. A Primarch in his prime empowered by ancient knowledge. A future Konrad Cruze, the Primarch of the Shadow Scions came into being.

The form was created from a mix of Konrad's own dreams, Malcadors foresight and the Emperor's ideal. If the Nighthaunter was the worst the Eighth Primarch could be, then this was the best. Konrad piloted the dream-form and was shocked by the countless techniques and powers available to him from Malcadors mind. Konrad did not know this but the Grand Master of Assassins had millennia ago earned that future title not simply in loyalty and authority, but wetwork skills.

Now two Primarchs, one form the best future and one from the worst stood across from each other. A King of the Night versus a Nightmare given flesh. In a dreamscape of a Nostromo alley, two demigods batteled. Monofilament blades filled the air, crackling talons shredded armor and flesh. They both held psychic mastery of the darkness, and it seemed the very night itself battled over who would be its rightful master.

For hours and seconds, they ripped at each other with countless weapons both mental and physical. The Night Haunter spat insults, curses and taunts the entire while. "Your Father will cast you aside like he did us! You are already broken, and he has no use for broken tools! I am going to crawl out of your skin and force feed that mother dearest of yours her own entrails! Everyone knows the tragedy of poor Konrad Curze, how he was too weak and let his inner Demons swallow him whole, now it's time for a second meal!"

Konrad remained silent the entire fight as sparks flew and blood splattered across the increasingly ruined alleyway. They were evenly matched, neither side could gain an advantage and it seemed the fight was doomed to end with Konrad cracking under the strain of wielding a mixture of his and Malcadors power. Suddenly a thought from Malcador whispered a path to victory.

Running low he clinched his doppelganger and simply whispered a simple phrase into the broken things face. "There was another way, you just had to try."

The Night Haunter looked like a lighting claw had been driven into it with those words. A moment later two had been. The split second was all it took for Konrad to impale the monster and start to shred it apart. The Eighth son spat into the Night Haunters face and said "You are a sad, pathetic thing, bound by strings of fate easily cut and unable to become what you were meant to be. The Night Haunter of Nostromo is dead, you hold no power over me. Be gone from here filth"

The Night Haunter started to shatter like burnt glass on Konrads Claws and the fading monster rasped. "I have a message from the four to father."

Malcador snarled internally, of course, they were behind this. The Night Haunter was never a favored servant of there's but after being ripped away from the original Curze this more twisted version of the Eight Primarch found a place within the great game.

The Quickly cracking Night haunter gave the message "We have claimed countless of your spawn, Anathema. One universe of temporary salvation will fall before the infinites of damnation."

With that, the Night Haunter exploded into black glass with a psychotic laugh and was banished. Malcador and Konrad separated. The Child was stunned but confident. The monster that stalked his mind was banished. He had beat it once, he could beat it again. Malcador placed a hand on Konrad's shoulder and pulled them both back into reality. On the way, Malcador tweaked Konrad's memory. Somethings were best left forgotten and others were not for Konrad to know yet.

They both awoke back into the med-room and the Eight Blanks went to immediate battle stations. With a gesture in thought-mark, they were put at ease. Konrad awoke to find Theresa passed out next to his bed. He gently shook her awake and she embraced him with tears in her eyes. When she asked what happened Konrad simply smiled and said "I beat the Monster, it's gone. He won't hurt anyone again"

Malcador left the duo with the Sisters and watched the 19/20 other Primarchs pile into the room to check in on their sibling. Over the next few months, Konrad would grow leaps and bounds into one of the greatest of his brothers. His Daemons were banished and the King of the Night was poised to take his throne. Yet new worries wracked the Sigilites aged bones. The Four were plotting, they may have saved these heroes-to-be but other fallen princes of the Imperium awaited to fulfill the will of thirsting gods

Part II The Humbling of the Mage.

Five Months after the Emperor left for Mars.

Arik Taranis leaned his massive bulk against the banister and was pleasantly surprised it didn't groan in protest. The Primarchs accommodations, where he now stood were one of the few places he did not need to watch his every move to ensure he did not leave it a ruin. The Emperor had not gifted him and his fellow prototypes with the same level of micro-motor skills that next generations of enhanced warriors possessed. They had been built as destroyers, Gods of Destruction crafted to burn away the ruins of humanities fallen empire so a new one could rise. Things such as fine motor skills, stable Hypno-indoctrination, and their lifespans had been sacrificed for raw power.

Arik felt little ill will towards his creator for it, he had seen exactly how far humanity had fallen during the Old Night and had helped haul it back from the edge of extinction kicking and screaming. Taranis knew how close humanity had come to the end and if the Emperor waited just a little longer there might not have been a species to save. Being created flawed seemed a small price to pay.

Even so, they were far beyond a normal human but lacking compared to the Primarchs he watched train below him. Arik himself being closer to the Primarchs was still far far above the Astartes Baseline but it did not come naturally to him. He had to watch his every movement in more fragile environments. These thoughts drifted through the old champion's mind as he viewed the combat drills performed below. He stood on an observation deck overlooking a section of the Imperial Palaces training grounds.

He had passed through the Legion Yards and seen the adolescent Astartes being drilled in countless martial and tactical skills by Ghota and a handpicked group of Unification Wars Vets. His last surviving son had taken to his role of Drill instructor well and had often referred to the legions as the "piss-brained limp wristed mutts with potential"

That was the closest he could easily come to praise for the Astartes. To both Arik and Ghota, they had at first seemed lacking. Not strong enough, not fast enough, not vicious enough, nothing compared to the Thunder Warriors glory. That was until they saw the Legio Astartes fight as they were meant too. Not as warriors or even soldiers but as Armies.

The Thunder Warriors were known by that epitaph instead of their title due to them being true Warriors, the Legion organization of them was more for easier management than an actual command structure. They fought side by side but individually. Not so much an army but a group of monsters rampaging together.

Malcador had once after observing a series of duels between Custodes and Thunder Warriors made a comparison that would be often used. "The Thunder Warriors are like great Ursine-beasts. Existing only in bored hibernative stupors during peace and vicious forces of destruction during war. By comparison, the Custodes are Alpha-Felines. Regal, Terrible, Apex Predators, meant to be perfect in every conceivable way"

Arik grudgingly agreed with the assessment and viewed the Astartes as being the third part of this Transhuman trinity. If the Thunder Warriors were Bears, the Custodes Lions then the Astartes were Wolves. Easily broken by a lazy strike from their predecessors but worked as a pack capable of wearing down and ripping the first two apart.

As the years of training had gone on Ghota had expressed concern to Arik that these wolves were just that, not hounds and negligible to bite the hand that feeds. Conversations with the Boss and Malcador had made it evident to the Lighting Bearer that was indeed a great concern and they were betting on the wolves doing what wolves do: follow the Alpha.

The Alphas in question were dueling within reinforced Practice Cages below Arik. Part of the Primarchs training involved daily duels against each other to foster both martial skill and camaraderie between them. Each day they were randomly divided up into dueling pairs, (Alpharius and Omegon flipped a coin or some days fought together.) and fought under certain conditions chosen to keep them adaptable and skilled in things other than their specialty.

Sometimes they fought with just hands and feet, other times engaging in running gun battles. Today they fought with a weapon of their choosing and nothing else. No warp born power, no physical gifts, no hidden weapons or alchemical concoctions. Just steel and grit.

This suited some fine, it annoyed a few but only one Primarch was openly contemptuous of this particular challenge: Magnus. Taranis watched the crimson haired Primarch duel his older brother Eddard. Arguably the greatest martially of the Primarch, Eddard combined elements of the skill of Iskandar, the physicality of Vulkan, Tyric's ferocity and the twins X-factor into what even Arik had to admit would probably be the greatest warrior humanity had ever seen. He was losing badly.

To a casual observer, it would seem Eddard was simply losing to a superior warrior. His guard was just an instant too slow or his blade lacked the power to properly damage his sibling. Arik knew the truth, centuries of battling things not meant to be had given him a good nose for detecting the Warps touch. He had to admit Magnus's skill at it was flawless. Somehow without any detection, he was dilating time to the smallest degree for both him and his brother. Making himself an instant faster and Eddard an instant slower.

A faint distortion of the air around the pair was the only indication and was not visible to unaugmented eyes. This along with what Arik was fairly certain was impressively subtle biomancy if the slight ozone-twinge to Magnus's scent was any indication gave him a considerable edge over his brother. The battle had been going on for a minute or so and it amused Arik to notice the shift that overcame Eddard when he realized his brother was not going to stop and this was not some secret test but Magnus cheating.

Eddard did not burn with a vicious fury like Tyric, Culain or Kalib. When he got angry he became focused but much more vicious than his more fiery siblings. His Matrari had once compared it to a laser that seared through whatever had gained his ire. Now that white-hot intensity scorched at Magnus.

The Young Lion as he was so often called started to push his body and mind to its absolute limit. No longer caring about martial precision or even his guard Eddard switched to a combat style taught to him by a Fallen Sword-Saint of Gredbritton. It was a supremely offensive style that sacrificed all defensive stances and measures for a devastatingly effective battle-trance that defended by simply making it so the opponent could not attack.

Even with the Mages multiple advantages, he was starting to be pushed back. Magnus was forced to stop lashing out with the bladed edges of his Zhen-Staff and focus on simply keeping Eddards longsword away from him. That was his mistake, his weapon was designed to keep his foe away from him while he cast spells. Being forced to block meant his foe was far closer than he should be.

Eddard did not stop, he continued to wail into his brother with focused passion. Magnus could only slow the pace he was being forced back by the flurry of blows. Arik sensed the time dilation increase but it was too little too late. Magnus was backed into one of the cages corners and his confident exterior started to crack. Eddards blade seemed to be in multiple places at once and soon the mage's armor was checkered with the electric burn marks indicating Eddard's sword had made contact.

Letting loose an angry scream Magnus gambled on a lunge that on the battlefield would take virtually anything head off. Eddard was not anywhere near where the spade-shaped end of the double-edged staff was stabbed. It took Magnus a second to realize his brother had jumped a few feet straight into the air and was now descending like the predatory Jungle-Cats he was often compared too.

Even Arik had to admit it was a masterful bit of misdirection leading to a great killing blow. Eddard landed on the Zhen-Staffs shaft and pinned it to the floor while bringing his longsword down onto the joint where Magnus's Cuirass and Gorget met. The combination of Transhuman muscle and gravity should have let the dull buzz-blade rip through the protective armor and severely bruise if not fracture Magnus's collarbone. It should have been a definite kill strike. Emphasis on should.

While the blade was just a few inches from his neck Magnus had blurted out an incantation, a small flash of light filled the practice cage and Eddard was left to stare at his blade in a mix of annoyance and surprise. The blade had been changed by Magnus's magic and became rubbery and elastic. The Longsword now lay drooped over his brother's shoulder like a length of rope. Seeing the jig was up Magnus blossomed with power and knocked his sibling back with a telekinetic wave. Eddard quickly sprang to his feet and was met by the Zheng-Staffs kopsheh blade to his throat.

With his own sword flopping uselessly in his hand the First Primarch's eyes narrowed in vicious fury as he spat out the words he despised about all "I surrender"

Grinning foolishly Magnus lowered his own weapon and was about to start speaking before a mailed fist pummeled into his face. The Fifteenth Primarch went sprawling and Eddard was on top of him. His composure had been compromised and he ripped into Magnus. The Arena-attendants that had been monitoring the fight were unsure what to do and did not want to get between the two. Arik could have easily dropped down and ended the fight but decided he could wait a minute or two.

Eddard roared into his brothers face "DID YOU SEE MY BLADE IGNITE IN WHITE FIRE? DID MY FLESH GLOW WITH PSYCHIC MIGHT? I SHUT OFF EVEN MY WARRIOR-INSTINCTS! YET YOU FLAUNTED YOUR POWERS AND ACTED HONORLESS!"

Another bone-crushing wave of energy smashed into Eddard, sending him tumbling back. The snarling First Son clambered to his feet. Arik could feel the Older Primarch mustering his own warp-gifts along with his considerable mental and physical fortitude in order to strike back. Soul-Fyre started to crackle in his hands and he let psychic energy pour into his muscles to enhance him. Right now Eddard stood as a paragon of what a Primarch could be. A bonding of humanities mastery over both physical and spiritual crystallized into a young hero. He never stood a chance.

Each of the Primarchs was connected to the Warp and could wield formidable psychic powers both consciously and unconsciously. Some could manipulate the minds of lesser beings, others enhance their body or mind past its already transhuman limits. Both the Emperor and Malcador had educated them in the use of these gifts and all of them could control an wield them. Yet one stood above the rest in sheer power. Magnus now used that power to utterly subjugate his brother.

Eddard had barely made a few steps towards Magnus before a psychic wave that would have stripped the flesh from a mortals bones smashed him into the far wall of the practice cage. He was held aloft in the dent his body had made in the Cages bars. Magnus floated to his feet and hovered towards his brother, all while increasing the pressure on him.

Psychic energy bled from the Mages eyes as he trembled with fury. Eddard's composure had cracked earlier, and his focused anger had become a primitive vicious fury. Now Magnus's composure was compromised and a mercurial coldness poured off of him as he spoke.

"You surrendered. I won and then you still attacked me. Where was that honor you aspire to brother? You lost and then you attacked me for being better than you. I'm ashamed for you Eddard."

Arik could only gap in mild shock. Was this brat really that arrogant? He had been a few years dealing with a few minor uprisings and he had returned to Magnus being a right little snotling. At first, he had intended to only watch but now he knew a bit of Uncle Arik's "guidance" was in order. Eddard, in turn, responded the best he could with nearly fifty g's on his chest "A-a-are you…. Serious? Mag-g-gnus you cheated with yuuurr powers and beesmurched the arena."

Magnus scoffed and responded "Father gifted you with steely muscles and reflexes capable of catching bolt-shells. Just as he gifted me with the powers of the warp. You are using your gifts just as I was using mine."

Before Eddard could respond a few hundred kilos of Thunder Warrior landed between the brothers. One massive meaty paw grabbed Magnus by his long red mane and slammed him into the floor and the other caught the limp Eddard. The Impact had knocked the Fifteenth son out and the First slurred something that sounded like "I had it under control" before fading into unconsciousness.

Sighing to himself Arik hoisted the two juvenile Demi-gods over his shoulders and left the practice chamber. Up close he found the strange proportions of the Primarchs more amusing. He had been spat out of a vat fully grown and the other enhanced warriors followed a slightly altered maturing process, but not Primarchs. The Little bastards were physically and mentally children but lacked the weird proportions of them. They looked like miniature Astartes and he could understand why The Emperor had psychically bonded the Assai-Matrari with the tykes. Transhuman-dread inspiring children was no laughing matter.

Cracking his neck Arik left the training grounds with the two primarchs. The other duels lulled at the sight of him. Kota broke a clinch with Moric and clambered onto the cage wall and called out "Uncle Arik! You're back! Uhh please don't kill them…"

The old warrior simply chuckled and waved to his gene-kin. He deposited Eddard into the Mediace ward and explained the situation. The squadron of tutors and mentors started devising new lesson plans to help increase Eddard's emotional composure and resistance to Warp-craft. Arik avoided Meghann Winzar, Eddards Matrari rushing into the chamber. Even if Magnus had hurt her son she would not condone what he was about to do.

Taranis left the Primarch Quarters and headed for his own within the Palace, still with the unconscious Primarch slung over his shoulder. Along the way, he sent various messages to invested parties. A request to Luna and Malcador. Sitreps to the Custodes about what happened and an apologetic message to Lybara Rasut, it would not sate the Witch but maybe keep her from trying to kill him for what he was going to do to her adopted son.

Ten hours later Magnus Rubricar awoke with a start. His superhuman senses and mind kicked in instantly, allowing him to bypass the confused haze a baseline human would be in his place. Magnus did not recognize where he was, it appeared to be a dimly lit large storage chamber somewhere in the palace. He recognized the architecture and he seemed to be in a clearing between storage containers.

The next thing Magnus noticed was that he was fully armored. His War-gear had been placed on him and to either side of him were his two favored none warp powered weapons. The Zheng-Staff was modified for real combat and next to it was a Plasma Pistol that Magnus had learned to use in combination with pyrokinesis. The Primarch rose to his feet and realized the building-sized containers had been arranged in an odd shape, that of an arena.

A deep vicious voice boomed out of the shadows "Pick up your Weapons and prepare for combat!"

Almost subconsciously Magnus started to before he asked "Uncle Arik? Is that you? What is going on here?"

On top of the farthest container, Arik Taranis emerged into the dim light. He was dressed in his full battle-plate and wore a grim smile. "Magnus Rubricar you failed the Challenge of flesh and steel when you used your warp-powers to beat Eddard Fendragoon. You must be taught a lesson."

Magnus simply scoffed at that "I did nothing wrong, my powers are my weapons and I used them to emerge victorious. Anyway, it was just a stupid training bout."

The smile faded from the Old Warriors lips and he continued "You show your ignorance and egotism whelp. The Powers of the Warp are not yours, they have never been and never will. That is the first lesson your Father taught you correct?"

"Yes but I use them to make it fair against my bro-" Magnus was interrupted by a glare that could have stopped a charging army.

"There is no such thing as fair in War boy. Those challenges are meant to keep you and your brothers from relying too heavily on one skill. I watched you fight Eddard and saw how arrogant and self-righteous you were. Magnus you have great potential, you know that but your knowledge of it seems to be spoiling it child." chided Arik.

The Ur-Primarch gestured to the weapons still at Magnus's feet. "You refused to learn these lessons the easy way, and are headed down a dark path you cannot be permitted on. I have taken upon myself to teach you the hard way. Now pick up your damn weapon and prepare for combat."

Snarling Magnus started to float up into the air while speaking "Arik you have no right to do this. When Malcador finds out you have kidnapped me! When my Father does! Oh you are in for-AGGGGHHHHH"

Just as he crested the top of the containers the ruins Arik and Ghota had spent a few hours painting with livestock blood flared to life. The Lighting Bearer was no sorcerer and barely psychic but he had picked many tricks during the Unification Wars. Magnus Plummeted to earth and angrily took up the weapons and started to snarl a curse, either literal or figurative.

Arik gestured around to countless marking covering seemingly every inch of the room in a pattern. "I would not do that if I were you. This entire chamber has been bound by hundreds of wards, rituals, and ruins over the years. Occansily when I am doing some dirty work for your Father I catch a live one and bring them back here to help keep me sharp. Xeno's, Witches, and worse have all fought and bled and here. Not one has escaped and trust me kiddo a lot of them were more powerful than you currently are."

Magnus's power waned and he glared sourly up at Arik "So how do you intend to "teach" me to cripple myself? Come down here and pummel me into the ground while your wards keep me weak? Because I will tell you right now that I will just work to become more powerful so something like that can never happen again"

Dropping his great bulk down, Arik sat on the edge of the container and smacked on its side. "Oh, I know that wouldn't work. I am not gonna kick your arse. She is gonna kill you"

A Blade pierced out of the container and carved a door open. Out Stepped a Power-armored woman. Her hair was done up in a topknot and in her hands, she carried a Power-Claymore as large as she was. The wards had obscured her presence and the minute she locked eyes with Magnus his stomach dropped. Two things stood out to the Primarch. First was the sheer spiteful disdain in her ice blue eyes, they bored into him and he felt the utter hate she felt for him.

The second and much more visceral was realizing what she was. The woman was a Pariah, a Null Soul and an extremely powerful one at that. Magnus had encountered Blanks and Pariahs multiple times throughout his training but none like this. Most were Shadows or voids in the warp. This woman was a Black Hole that gorged itself on the Warp. Reflexively he picked up the weapons and got into battle stance.

Arik chuckled "Good, you're learning. This here is Natarasha Krole. The only Super-Pariah on Terra. She is also the sole survivor of a lineage of Witch Hunters that were wiped out by Ursh. Natarasha does not like foolhardy warp-wielders and has been given permission by me to execute you for unsanctioned malefic psykana."

Magnus gaped at Arik: "You can't be serious? I am a son of the Emperor himself. You will be both executed for this treason!"

The Thunder Warrior responded with a chuckle: "Oh I am deadly serious. Either you win and get your act together or you lose and the Emperor returns to a palace in mourning for you after that tragic accident. So get it together Magnus, are you really not capable of beating a mortal woman?"

Snarling bitterly Magnus summoned a corona of psychic energy around him. His witch sight peered into the ether and he felt the mass of wards around him press into his power. They appeared to be keeping him within the arena and prevented his escape or destruction of it. He was trapped in this arena. The only way was through the Mortal before him.

Smirking Magnus summoned Witchfyre into his palms and prepared to blast the Pariah into a paste. Part of his own personal training was learning to overcome the powers of Black-Souled abominations. For a being of his power, it was relatively easy. To deal with the weaker ones he could simply overwhelm their anti-soul, similar to how a flame that is hot enough will boil away water before it can extinguish it. The more powerful ones like the wretch before him required a more… subdued touch.

The Mage focused his own psychic aura into a tight vortex around him, designed to protect it from the Pariahs draining effects. The Witchfyre was modulated to produce the maximum amount of true-fire, the spark and fuel may be psychic but the blaze would be real enough to hurt even this damnable soul-sucker.

He let the firebolts fly and watched them move at supersonic speed towards the Women. She was moving the moment he let them fly, spinning like some absurd dancer she let the bolts graze right past her. The psychic energy within them was almost instantly devoured by the proximity to the Pariah. Magnus cursed as the twin flames guttered out, robbed of fuel. He could tell she was not strictly baseline human, some low-level gene or chem augments were at work. No mortal could move like that.

Magnus was right but had only brushed the edge of the full extent of her abilities. Krole had been enhanced for the specific purpose of surviving this first engagement with an enemy psyker. After that, her nature did the rest of the work. Krole charged the Emperor's son with her Claymore raised. A Feral howl escaped her lips. This misguided experiment by the Master of Mankind would be put down before it was allowed to taint the infant Imperium.

Natarasha Krole was one of the most powerful Pariahs to ever exist and had been trained in her Clans arts, the techniques she was about to unleash would become the cornerstones of two organizations the Imperium and galaxy at large would grow to fear. These organizations would be born of both Kroles linage and skill set, they were the Sisters of Silence and Clade Culuxus.

The energy the Emperors princeling had discharged was absorbed into her Null-soul. It was consumed and converted into power for her to wield. Despite being barely augmented past a Peak-Human she charged Magnus at speeds an Astartes would be proud to match. She saw a mix of shock and fear in his eyes. It was a good sight.

She was slow compared to his brothers but far faster than she had any right to be. Magnus blocked the Claymores strike before leaping into the air. He was outside the blades range and started to chant incantations to empower himself for the duel. The blade could not reach but her gauntlet mounted Flamers could.

Fire erupted forth obscuring Magnus's Vision, his Telekine shield wailed in protest but held. It had done little other than startle him and stop his chanting. That was the goal. His transhuman senses heard the unmistakable growl of straining power armor just as Krole Lept into the air, she passed through the rapidly dying fireball as if it was not there. Her claymore came down on Magnus in a parody of what Eddard had tried. Except hers coursed with Pariah-Energy.

His shield did not buckle or cleave but was drained out of existence into the blade. Magnus had against his mentors and brothers advice forged his armor primarily to enhance his powers. Servo-motors were stripped to not interfere with incantations. Sturdier metals were passed over for ones with ritual significance. Auto-senses and shielding had been replaced with warp-imbued items. The Fifteenth Primarch began to realize the folly of this when the Pariah-Womens blade splintered his collarbone.

The Primarch screamed and felt his power bleed from him. The pain and Pariah-Aura forced him out of telekinetic flight. He crashed into the Arenas floor, the blade still in him. Krole rode his descent and used the shock of the impact to dislodge the sword. She was not stupid and backed out of his reach. Krole circled him like a hungry lioness.

Hundreds of spells and enchantments that had once empowered Magnus constantly faded and died. When she had wounded him the proximity had let her Aura drain and ruin years worth of effort. He staggered to his feet and grasped his wounded shoulder. It was healing, but not as fast as it should.

Arik answered his unspoken question "A Primarch is a being of two realms, your powers draw from both. Guess what happens when you are disconnected from one of them?"

Magnus snarled and with a mental effort usually reserved for tossing tanks he pulled his staff into his hand from a few feet away. The instant he did she was on him again. She was faster and stronger than before, glutted on Magnus's spells she now matched any Champion of the Legions. Yet Magnus was a Primarch who's usual sparring partners were his brothers.

Slowly he started to match her rhythm. Steadily his defensive movements became more and more aggressive. Arik watched and started to smile, the brat might be learning after all. Sparks flew from their blades and arcs of energy cascaded off the power-fields. With a burst of superhuman muscle, Magnus pushed Krole back and took his opportunity.

Taranis swore as he realized what Magnus was doing. Instead of pressing his advantage he had fallen back and was mustering his gifts. The Primarch called out "I will not be limited! This duel is pointless and I will prove to you both the superiority of my craft!" Arik swore again when he realized the sheer amount of Energy Magnus was mustering. A Blank could be defeated by overloading their distorted connection to the Warp. The brat assumed it was the same with Pariahs, just scaled up. It was anything but.

A Beam of screaming-souls was let loose from the Primarchs hands, the Energy released could have turned a Small Titan into a haunted-puddle of molten metal. Natarasha Krole faced it head-on. She absorbed all she could and deflected and dispersed what she couldn't. She could feel her armor start to melt and morph around her as the impossible energy sought to devour her whole. Clenching her jaw hard enough to crack teeth she stood firm and focused. No witch no matter how powerful could stand against her. The Last of the Mute-Crow Clan was the product of generations of experimentation and eugenics. She would survive this and start her family anew.

Arik scrambled to activate a dozen wards, each not capable of stopping a Greater Neverborn but sure as hades inconvenience them as he had learned from experience. They seemed to barely affect the geyser of power erupting from the Primarch. It seemed barely weaker but steadily becoming more diffuse, like a stream of water being split by an object in its path. Arik realized the metaphor was more apt than he thought.

Krole was pushing into the beam and almost reached the Primarch. His eyes widened in shock as she finally reached the Primarch. He did not see the blow but knew it must have connected when the energy stopped. The utterly spent Primarch stumbled back, a large gash on his chest starting to ooze blood. His eyes suddenly unfocused and the Fifteenth son collapsed. Arik rushed over and found what was left of Krole. Every visible inch of skin was burnt, her blade was a smoking piece of slag and the hand that had pressed into the beam was a skeletal stump.

Cursing more thoroughly now Arik wondered how many pieces he would end up in if he had really just killed a Primarch and one of Malcadors proteges. He glanced over at the Primarch and we relieved to see the wound was shallow enough for his augmented blood to clot over.

Krole was a different story, she was still technically alive but looked like she had just fallen from orbit. Her charred mouth sputtered open and she inhaled a raspy breath. As she inhaled burned flesh started to slough off and muscles regrew. Arik had seen many things but the sight of this woman being knit back together was one of the stranger ones. It was not a perpetual rebirth or that of a tumor-beast, this was like the injuries were being undone.

After a minute or so a naked and twitching Krole lay before him. Her left arm still bore burn-scars of where she had blocked the beam, and Arik correctly suspected those would never heal. She then sat up and let out a scream that lasted far longer than it had any right to. It finally ended and she started to shakily get to her feet.

Shivering from exhaustion she spoke: "That...that was beyond the possible. I can regenerate injuries by feeding off warp-power but that… I was being destroyed as fast as I was rebuilt."

Krole stumbled and Arik caught her. The stunned women vomited onto the floor and then asked: "What now?"

Smiling grimly Arik helped her walk as they exited the Arena "I get some better wards and we keep trying to knock sense into the brat."

Krole snarled at that: "Would be better to let me kill him and be done with it."

"Doubtful, if my hypothesis is correct that tyke is far more important to the Emperor than we could ever imagine"

Arik patched the unconscious Primarch and shocked Pariah up and prepared to try again the next day. It ended less disastrously but still with Magnus getting cocky and relying on his powers. This processes repeated itself for nearly a month. Each day the Primarch would awake, eat, and then get pummeled by the Pariah. Each day though he seemed to rely less on his Psychic nature. Yet still, the lesson was not fully getting through.

Eventually, Arik started bringing in other Witch Hunters, these mortals had a much rougher go of it but most still managed to challenge Magnus. Arik found himself honestly disappointed many times. These were clever mortals with a few augments here and there. Literally beneath a Primarchs notice but Magnus was struggling.

It eventually came to a head three months into the experiment. When after the 75th time Krole had beaten him the Primarch let out a dejected howl and slumped to his knees. Finally, his hubris was broken. Putting his hands up in defeat the Primarch spat out the words "I give up. You have beaten it into me. My powers may be great but are fallible"

Arik grinned, the Mage had been humbled at last. It was the oldest trick in the Drill Instructor book, break a recruit down utterly and build him up better than he ever could be before. For a Primarch it had taken an absurd amount of effort, a cargo-hauler of supplies to bribe the Lunar Pariah Program, and a large number of powerful Psychic defenses to protect him from Magnus's Matrai. Yet it had been done. Now all that remained was rebuilding him into what he was meant to be.


	17. Chapter 14 And Beyond

Chapter 14: Tales from the Palace and Beyond (Second Half)

Part III Rangda Rising

Date- Year 4781 of the Age of Nightmares (local calendar)

Location- Minish: Industrial age human world in the Halo Stars.

The Things first noise was both its birth-cry and its chrysalis death scream. The Host-Beasts final moments of despair and disgust flickered through Its mind as it fully awoke. The Thing had lived for months under the host-beasts skin, feeding on nerve cells and steadily influencing it. During that time it had been non-sentient, just a cluster of Viral-Nerves following pre-weaved orders.

These orders had plucked at the Host-Beasts minds, at first simple intrusive thoughts that steadily grew into obsessions, then actions. It started simple, letting a drop of infected oxygen-carrier fall into the meal it was preparing for its brood. This quickly evolved and magnified as the Things influence increased. Each action worked to spread the Things kindred across the Host-Beasts world.

A collection of Host-Beasts snuck into an H20 plant and dumped chunks of infected offal into the supply. Dissident organizations were joined or formed. Livestock was infected and sacrificed to spread the Things fellows to millions more. After months of this, the signal came. A note sung through the warp, it struck the infant-things across the World and drove them into a frenzy. The time for subtlety was over. Hosts-Beasts rampaged across the world, crippling and infecting it as the Things inside them devoured what was left of their nervous system.

After a month of this anarchy, the first generations of infected were fully consumed and the Things inside them awoke to the world just as the seeders arrived. This particular Thing took its first few moments to examine its Flesh. It was a binary oxygen processor, well-formed thanks to physical labor and good nutrients. It was a good host that would serve the Thing well.

Next, it glanced around its surroundings. It stood within a Crater that had once been a Civilization Center. Broken structures and ruined infrastructure dotted the landscape. Around it was millions of Host-Beasts. Some like it were fully awakened and examining the world. Others were still being consumed and stood in mute agony as their neurons were devoured bit by bit.

The last piece of the surroundings to register was by far the largest and most important. A great fleshy spire stuck out of the Craters center. It reached into the cloud banks and the Thing noticed vents near the top pouring atmosphere adapted virons into the world's water cycle. On some instinctive level, The Thing knew the spire was buried into the planet as far below as it rose into the sky, and that it tainted the soil and aquifer as well.

The silence was broken by a song, a horrific melody that blasted from vehicle sized vocal structures that dotted the spire. It was interwoven with Psychic signals that combined to touch the Things flesh and soul. To its Host-Beast the Psi-Noise would have been a thing of mind-shattering insanity, that would have caused it to gouge its flesh and tear its throat apart screaming. To the Thing, it was the most utterly beautiful thing it had ever experienced and would ever experience.

As one the millions of infected marched towards the Siren Song. The Song was a screaming-whisper on its mind, a soft enchanting rhythm that rewrote Viral-Clusters and started to convey a great saga. The Thing could not understand the tale, no matter how hard it tried it could not fully grasp the Psychic Epic being written into the minds and souls of those who were meant to hear it.

Only two things made it through the cacophony and into the Things mind. First was a command. Enter the Conqueror Worm. The Things still developing neural-equivalent correctly deduced the spire was this Conquering Worm. As it got closer the point of entry also became obvious. Building-sized mooring spikes stabbed out of it into the dirt. They were colossal bone-structures that supported the Worm. Each was hollow and fluted, allowing access points for the newborns to climb into and enter the Worm.

The second decipherable bit was less practically important but reality shaking to the newborn thing. It was an identity, what it was and why it was. The thing was a thing no longer. It was a Rangdan, and it had been born to claim its genesis-right.

The Rangdan along with its millions of siblings clambered into the spike and ascended the ghoulish stairway that comprised the innards of it. Hundreds of thousands of young Rangdans clambered up the spike. Using processes as instinctual to it as flight is to an avian The Rangdan started modifying its host.

No longer hampered by the need for subtlety The Rangdans Virons spread rapidly through the host-beast. Muscle cells were contaminated and twisted on the molecular level to reach states stronger and more efficient than ever originally possible. Energy careful eased from the inverted tapestry fueled hyper-mitosis and the natural mutagenic effect of that realm was weaponized.

Mutations and Cancers were harvested to provide more material. Hair shrunk into the scalp and prepared to be repurposed. Calluses appeared on flesh and were cultivated and sculpted into dermal armor. Each few-millimeter sized cluster of Rangdan Pseudo-Nerves acted independently of each other and drew from the inverted tapestry the small amount of matter and energy their meta-souls could.

The Rangdan was careful to not synchronize them or draw too much in order to prevent the things that dwelt in that realm from noticing it. Not all of his kin followed that instinct and sought to push beyond, to reach greater heights. A sound that was a mix of tearing flesh, screaming and an electrical hum occansily reverberated through the spine as one of the foolish ones met their fate. One of these failed erupted a dozen meters behind the Rangdan into a mutating hulk of twisted broken flesh that muled for death.

A twinge of annoyance filled the Rangdans mind, he was too far away to enjoy the bounty of flesh provided by the failure. It's closer siblings would feed well upon it. A Rangdan instinctively knew the more organic matter one possessed the more powerful you are. No matter how skilled a crafter is they are still limited by the amount of resources they have to work with.

Eventually, after several hours The Rangdan reached his destination. The Top of Spine where it met the Conqueror Worm. A massive aperture formed of some sort of gel stood before them. The stream of Rangdans slowly but surely entered the gel. The instant they did an unseen current whisked them away to parts unknown. Finally, it came The Rangdans turn. It expected some sort of resistance but instead, it was like walking into a pool of warm water.

Trusting the instinctual pulses that had guided it true so far the Rangdan entered it fully and took a deep breath of the fluid. The semi-solid liquid poured down the Rangdans throat and into its respiratory and digestive system. It was nutrient and oxygen-rich and seemed to independently recycle waste to keep the Rangdan alive and healthy. Giving itself over to the current the Rangdan felt itself pulled along a great capillary-like structure to parts unknown.

The influx of nutrients and sense of safety allowed the Rangdan to allow itself to truly start rebuilding its flesh as it traveled. New ideas and instincts flooded the Rangdan and it began to consume and rebuild the Host-Beasts flesh into something far greater. After months of riding the current, the Rangdan no longer resembled its host beast in any way.

Its sensory organs were improved and expanded upon. Viral-Nerve Clusters were expanded and advanced to increase intellect and memory. Bones reknit into more efficient shapes. The Rangdan's form had been crafted into something far better than what evolution had forged the Host-beast into. Once it felt its body was at the peak efficiency available to it the Rangdan let out a Psycho-Chemical signal.

The current shifted and the Rangdan has pulled away from the Maturation-veins. The song increased in volume in clarity as it flowed into a separate chamber. About a hundred other Rangdans drifted through the Cyst-Chamber. They resembled The Rangdan. Similar adaptations and structures, it knew these beings were its kin. Each born of the same Caste-Virus for the same purpose.

Drifting towards the Chambers center The Rangdan met its guide and the source of the song. It was at least three times its mass and most of that matter was concentrated in its massive cranium. Its skull was a titanic thing, housing millions of nerve-clusters. Its body seemed like an emaciated four upperlimbed version of the Rangdans own. It possessed dozens of light-sensing orbs and the majority locked onto the newcomer.

A Psychic voice echoed in The Rangdans mind: "Greetings Newborn. I am Volg-Goid-Haskysh'ura. Storyweaver of the Clan Goid, subject to the Volg House-Clan. You are a newborn of the Flesh-weaver Caste and Clan Akhon. Also subject to Volg House-Clan. My duty is to show the great history of Rangda to you and your kin."

With that, a psychic tendril reached out and let the Young Rangdan decipher the song. It was the story of its people, the story of a faith and civilization older than any other still living. The Song/Saga started like so many of its kind across the galaxy "In the Beginning"

The Rangdan did not know how much of it was words and how much memories. It could only float in the chamber like it's kin experiencing the same as the Psychic song washed over them. "In the beginning there was nothing. The universe was a great cold empty void where Stars lived and died along and untouched for eons. Until it came!"

A sense of joy and peace overcame the young one as its vision of the ancient void was changed by a Presence. "The Weaver of Strands entered the galaxy like it had done so many others. It found the void lacking and sought to create the ultimate art to fill it. Each galaxy became a beautiful tapestry of life and ours was destined to be the greatest!"

Dead worlds slowly turned green as nebulous clouds of energy traveled the galaxy, seeding and preparing to be gardened. "Life sprang into being across the universe and eventually sentients developed. Two species, in particular, were selected to serve the Weaver of Strands. One too gathers material for the tapestry being woven. Another to assist in the weaving.

"We the children of Rangda were chosen to travel the galaxy gathering strands of life to be used. The other were the Slaathion, they helped weave life into being and guide it to its appropriate place in the tapestry. For eons, the twin races served the Weaver and all was well."

Darkness started to seep into the vision, a hungering mass of chitin and teeth crawled between the stars and sought to slake its never-ending thirst. It was greater and more horrific than anything the Rangdan could ever imagine. "Then the Hungering Entropy came. It sought to unravel and feast upon the galaxy like it had so many others. Not wanting to lose yet another creation to its ancient enemy the Weaver of Strands left the Galaxy in its favored two's care while it battled the Entropy."

"For millennia we did our duty and cared for the growing Galaxy. Pruning unwanted species and shaping life into our creator's vision. The Weaver and the Entropy were evenly matched. The thing from between the stars could not be driven away nor consume the greatest artist. This stasis lasted an age before the Slaathion betrayed everything they stood for. Their great sages sought new weapons to battle the Entropy but discovered only folly."

The Vision shifted to a conclave of ancient Reptilians atop strange pyramid-temples reaching out with their minds into an unknown domain. "They were the first to touch the Inverted Tapestry. A domain where strands of life both real and imagined dwelled. Reaching farther and farther into this impossible realm they and drank from the Well of Eternity. In that terrible moment, the Slaathion broke their oaths and betrayed us and their creator."

"In their hubris, they declared the Weaver of Strands a false god and their sacred duties to guide and cull life as our Creator saw fit was wrong. Harnessing the powers of the Inverted Tapestry they battled us in a horrible rebellion. We fought with every ounce of our strength but it was not enough to overcome those ancients and the false-strands they empowered themselves with."

A new sight filled the Rangdans mind. Weapons of flesh and bone battled against armies of witch-forms across burning worlds. "On our sacred world of Old Rangda our Eldest of Elders were forced to kneel and we were banished to the farthest reaches of the galaxy as punishment for refusing to betray our oaths. The Great Worm-Engine gifted to us by the Weaver was broken into three and our ancient Crown-Worlds were wiped clean of life."

"For countless eons we watched our betrayers rule the galaxy and shape it in ways abhorrent to the Weavers wishes. The greatest of its art was undone and corrupted. Eventually, we discovered the truth of why the Slaathion had banished to the far reaches. Their visions into the Inverted Strands had told them of the greatest threat to the galaxy, and the ultimate evidence of our failure."

The distant tendrils of hungering darkness poured from the Void towards the galaxy. "The Weaver of Strands had turned its back on us, the destruction of its work and theft of its tools had caused it to leave us. Now the Hungering Entropy sought to feed. It may have been weakened and scattered into countless tendrils by our benefactor's efforts but it still sought to feed."

"Despair set in among our people, entire cities ended themselves, for oblivion was better than knowing we had been abandoned utterly. At our darkest moment, our greatest hero emerged. The Sage Nyarl was born of a Slaathion host-beast and had stolen their powers. Nyarl peered into the Inverted Strands and discovered the Truth."

"The Conductor of Strands could forgive us! We could be taken back into our Master's fold if we completed the work. The Inverted Strands were another part of the Weaver's work. The reverse side of the great tapestry of life and by misusing its power the Slaathion threatened to unravel it and all life. Only by collecting and weaving together every thread could the tapestry be completed. Every strand of gene-code must be compiled, every soul unified under us."

Next, in the vision, the dark tendrils were attacked by a glowing sorcerer-sage at the head of Rangdan armies welding mythological flesh-forms. "Unified under Nyarl's teaching we battled the Hungering Entropy like our creator and turned its own flesh into fodder for our growing race! Pale shadows of the original Great Worm Engine allowed us to burrow through the Inverted Tapestry and find new worlds."

"With each tendril consumed, we grew in power. The Great Volaticus Stream formed from Nyarls own fluids remembered every monster we consumed and added its power to our own. For eons, this war inherited from our creator continued. It only ended when reality ripped open within the greatest Elder-Citadel-House of Rangda-in-Exile. The Slaathion had returned."

Pulled from the war against Void-born horrors the Rangdan watched Old-Sages upon hovering palanquins exit a hole in space into the heart of their growing Empire. "They came bearing gifts of Genes never imagined and host beasts engineered perfectly for us. At first, we suspected trickery but the offer of peace was genuine. They offered an end to our exile in exchange for assistance against the greatest foe."

"In the millions of solar orbits since our banishment, the Slaathion had spread life throughout the galaxy and twisted races into equals of them. Our humble skill in weaving the Inverted Strands was nothing compared to the betrayer's dominance of it. They had teased the Weavers secrets from the shattered Worm Engine and fused them with their new powers to create an ever-growing labyrinth located both in the Material and Immaterial."

"Yet for all these abominations and unholy powers, they had found a foe beyond them. Another aspect of the Hungering Entropy had been found by a weak-willed race of ghouls. Not cloaked in shadow and flesh but metal and stolen star-light. We saw the threat and offered our help to purge this evil from the galaxy."

"Millions of years of exile had not taught us a simple lesson. Never trust a betrayer. We assumed they wanted our War-Forms and numbers to fight this conflict. How very wrong we were. The things we met were not Slaathion but their children are known as the Slaani. For the Slaathion along with their most prized creations had ascended past the limits of flesh and blood into pure Energy. They had become living conduits into the inverted realms and a prized meal for the Star-Eaters."

"These broken beings sought not flesh to fight their wars, they had plenty in the haughty Crystal-Children or Spore-born Beasts. What they sought was our very Inverted-threads. To fight false-gods forged of metal they had created false-gods formed of interwoven inverted-threads. Great abominations had been formed all ready to fight this war. The Eternal-Winged Flame, The Twin Headed War, Serpents made of Starlight, And countless others. Now they bound our souls together as one into a horrific thing, and thus the False-Weaver was born"

Billions of Rangdans had their Souls/Inverted Threads bound together into a colossal corpulent mass of rotting flesh. "This abomination was the first of its kind, not born of a single aspect of a species but an aspect of all species. We were the anchor point for it, considered disposable if it failed."

"For millions of cycles False-Gods battled with armies forged/born solely to kill their foes. Just as we feared the once peaceful if twisted Inverted Tapestry was tainted and started to unravel. False-Gods became True-Monsters and reality itself started to buckle from the horrors of the First War. The Material was collapsing under the strain of the Star-Eaters power and the Immaterial under the insanity of eternal-war along with the growing pantheon of madness."

"In a final desperate attempt to save both sides of the tapestry the Slaathion decided to unleash the greatest and worst weapon ever devised by them. Before it was unleashed millions of those "chosen" by them were herded into the Labyrinth and shut away. The Great Ancients including our Lineage-Lord Volg were rewarded by the betrayers and sealed away also while the weapon was unleashed."

"The Volaticus Stream's memories do not contain the truth of what happened. The Last message from the Slaathion simply said: "To save all life we must first Enslave It." Time passes wrong within the Labyrinth so we know not how long we were sealed away. Eventually, it's great crystal gates opened and we entered a galaxy much changed. The Star-Eaters and their metal-bone slaves were gone and all sentient life had been wiped from the galaxy, save for the last few Slaathion who were utterly broken by what had occurred."

"The insane survivors guided us back to our home worlds, where nothing remained except for ruins. From their they abandoned us. Some say they still seek to Change the Ways of the Galaxy, others whisper they Linger, a few say they created a world that would be, while the mad insist something stole their knowledge and power away to light a beacon of sanity."

"It took little time for the Crystal-Children to become prouder and crueler than their creators. Once again we were banished to the farthest reaches of the galaxy to guide against tendrils of hungering flesh that never came. Many times we sought to reclaim our place as master of the galaxy and begin the Great Weaving of all life in the galaxy together. Each Time the False-Gods and their legions of worshiping Crystal-Witches struck us down."

"So another age of exile began as the Inverted Tapestry slowly started to unravel again. Without the betrayer's guiding the weaving the galaxy had died to achieve started to break down as new unruly host-beasts to-be stained the fabric of unreality. Soon ancient things that slumbered since the end of the First War started to awaken. We knew once the Broken-Flesh King awoke the False-Weaver would soon stir."

"To prevent falling under the abominations sway we scoured our souls and changed the very nature of The Rangda. Much was lost and will ever be but we were safe from it. Safe from the Stains upon the inverted tapestry and ignored by the bastard-heirs to usurpers we waited. Flesh-Beasts crafted to watch and rot tended the galaxy for us in our exile. The Worms that Walk would tell us when fate had been woven for us."

"It took an age but we had waited longer for less. The folly of the Crystal-Children violated the Materium as they birthed their youngest god anew. Empire both young and old crumbled as the Inverted Tapestry was shredded apart by the Storm of Chaos. The time was right the galaxy rots around us and we can arise from its corpse and take it back for our Master! The Time has come for Rangda to Rise!"

"Yet we are not alone in such ambitions. The Four reborn are greater and more terrible than ever before. They seek to make the Galaxy Burn in their name. Newborn and reborn Empires seek to claim our place. Something great and terrible burns through the warp. We shall strike them all down and weave them mind, body, and thread into our Tapestry. None can stand against The Rangdan Empire!"

With that, the visions ended. The Rangdan did not know how long it had been in the chamber, the occupants had changed, but it now knew its purpose. History filled its mind and it left the chamber and rode the current to the destination it was meant for. The Rangdan entered a great Flesh-Womb. Where Millions of gestation chambers were tended to by similar looking kin.

Each grew a Flesh-Form of varying purpose to the Rangda species. It was the Young Rangdans duty to craft these tools. Slowly it moved through the fluid towards the great neural-structure in the center of the chamber. The Rangdan knew what it was, a connection to The Volaticus Stream. A nexus where organically encoded copies of every life-thread or flesh structure encountered by the Rangdan Empire was stored.

With tentative digits, it reached out to it and felt its mind and inverted-thread link with the great flesh-form. In gene-code it asked it a simple question "Name?"

Without hesitation, the Rangdan replied with the title it knew belonged to it since the end of the song/saga. "I am Volg-Akhon-Urath. Newborn Fleshcrafter of House-Clan Volg, and servant of Rangda Rising"

Electrical pulses exchanged between the Stream and Urath and after a moment knowledge both fresh and ancient entered the newborn's mind and it got to work crafting weapons of war to help consume the next world and complete the Great Weaving.

Months later once the population of Minish was fully consumed and its biosphere fully tainted the Conquering Worms titanic maw would open wide and bite a hole into the Warp. Like a parasite crawling into an open wound, the Hive sized Worm wriggled into the Warp and onto the next world ready to add itself to the glory of Rangda Rising.

A.N. Normally I am not a big fan of the unreliable Narrator idea but it is HEAVILY used in this section. Rangdan history is a mixture of fact, propaganda, brainwashing, missing half the information and missing knowledge filled in with myth. The Stance I am taking is the War In Heaven was such a nightmarish clusterfuck it pulled an Elder Scrolls and "Broke the Dragon" (Google it if you don't get the reference) and screwed time, reality, and the warp so utterly that all accounts of it are equally false and true.

So yeah maybe the Rangdans were used to create Nurgle and there is a fickle Anti-Tyranid with the personality of a histrionic art student or maybe they are a species of self-deluding parasites relying on faulty genetic memory to propagate a religious creed that mixes the Imperial Creeds zealotry with the Tyranids foreign policy.

Part IV Lunar Whisper

Location: The Forgotten Laboratories of Luna.

Date: Seven months after the Emperor left Terra.

Sagitari 17 was a Slave, his fate was not his own to decide. It had been decided for him decades before his birth. Existence was servitude under the most dangerous tyrant humanity had ever faced. Despots, totalitarians, and conquerors were common throughout human history but the one that had enslaved Sagitari 17's people and world was unique in that his tyranny was eternal.

The Immortal Emperor of Mankind was truly that and if his ambition was not stopped humanity would suffer under that abominations yoke for eternity. Sagitari had been raised hearing the tales of the Emperor's conquest of his home. How the noble Helix-Beasts and Cyber-Knights had been crushed by the rampaging Thunder Legions.

The Gene-Cults of Luna had exchanged one tyrant for another. The insane era of Cardinal Tang may have ended but the Selenar had their faith taken from them, their secrets looted and their skills press-ganged into creating instruments of galactic domination.

Some more liberal Selenar Matriarchs had eventually led their sects into the Emperor's enslavement, viewing him as the perfect embodiment of humanities genetic potential and the monsters he sought to grow the truest incarnates of humanities genetic archetypes. They were fools.

One had only to watch the Flesh-Harvests of the Astartes to know what a monster the Emperor was. Sagitari 17 was a particularly talented Gene-wright and forced to work on the Astartes Legions. He had witnessed thousands of young boys freshly stolen from their homes after testing positive for Astartes compatibility.

They were herded into the Gene-Seed processing centers like human livestock. The range of attitudes, origin, and attributes was remarkable. Scions of noble houses raised their head-height, proud of their selection. Juvenile monsters plucked from the worst hives strained against restraints and watched the shock-pole armed guards for any weakness.

Of all of them, Sagitari 17 pitied the Chthonians, plucked from their homeworld the gang-brats knew nothing of the fate awaiting them and feared the worse. Like cornered animals, the children of tunnel gangs and ruin-tribes gathered together and plotted escape futility.

Sagitari had always known he was a slave, his sect had sought to stand against The Emperor even after the First Pacification. Despite their beliefs and radical tendencies, they had played the loyal pet to the tyrant. The Matriarchs were divided on when and how to strike but all agreed now they must serve to survive. So despite knowing the truth his sibling-sects willing blinded themselves to Sagitari 17 had been a loyal and protective servant of the Imperium until the dreams started.

At first, they were faint things, barely remembered whispers when he awoke from a hibernation cycle soaked in cold sweat. Yet steadily once the news of the Emperors departure reached Luna they increased. By the end of the first month, he could fully remember the nightmarish hellscapes shown to him.

A Corpse Kingdom where thousands were fed to the Immortal Tyrant to sustain him. Where the sons he had grown within Luna itself rampaged across the stars, eternally seeking war and conquest. Just as their biological programming demanded. This dream, no vision of events that could be showed the eternity of the cruelest, bloodiest regime in human history that he was helping build.

By the end of the second month, the dreams were replaced with new visions. Of ancient patrons returning to guide humanity once again. Four Gods for the Moons Four Phases. They whispered secrets and hidden truths to him day and night. Knowledge forbidden by the Tyrant and lost to time filled his mind. Following the whispers, deep into ancient chambers in Lunar bedrock, he met others like him.

They were chosen, sacred, selected from the greatest Genetic-Lineages that kept to the old ways. Those who recognized the Imperial Truth as a lie and compliance as slavery. Together they combined occult practices half-remembered by their elders and things pulled from their dreams. Hidden far from the Eyes of the Emperor and as close to the whispers source as possible the rituals started.

Communing with the Four Patrons they reached the Dark-Side of the Reality and were told impossible truths. How the aspects of humanity worshiped by the Cults were just shards of the four-faced whole. Warrior, Farmer, Performer, Learner: The four faces of humanity. The Emperor's tyranny threatened even them. The Warlord planned to devour the aspects and remake humanity in his horrid image.

To achieve this insidious goal Twenty Aspects of Humanity were stolen from the Four and imprisoned in Flesh crafted using the finest of both Terran and Lunar lore. The Primarchs were not the Emperor's children, they were stolen from the four. Sagitaris 17 had wept tears of blood when he saw/felt/smelled/touched/remembered the Tyrants kidnaping of the twenty on the World Named Sacrifice.

The Four wanted to do what they had always done, guide humanity to greater heights in hopes they would reach the pantheon and truly embody the aspects. In order to do this, they needed to save their children stolen by the Emperor. This most blessed task was meant for Sagitari 17 and his fellow Chosen kin.

By the end of the third-month plans were being hatched. Family, sect members, and other open minds had the truth shown to them. The small coven grew with each convert and those unwilling to see the light where dealt with. Soon the hidden chambers that once held a dozen blessed Selenarians now was packed with hundreds of zealots eager to serve the Four Aspects of Humanity.

Unifying the wills of the worshipers and the power of unwilling sacrifices the Realm of Aspects were touched and knowledge poured forth. Knowledge of how to save the Stolen Children and their children born of mutated youths. The Primarchs may be beyond their reach but the Astartes were not.

The first step in this plan was to reach the place where it had all began. The Place of the Primarchs creation. In that deep forgotten and abandoned laboratory, a crack in time could be opened up. It would take months of preparation and manipulation to reach the sacred source of the whispers.

Across Luna, the whispers had spoken to other Elect like Sagitari 17 and formed cults much like his own. Together they found each other and formed the Creed of the Four Phases. By the end of the sixth month, hundreds of thousands across Luna were illuminated and ready to save humanity from eternal slavery. Entire Sects and Lab-Habs were indoctrinated. With each new addition, the power of the Creed grew and the secret buried below became just that closer.

Security was swapped with loyal members, technicians whispered prayers to the four as they installed backdoors both physical and electronic into the Forbidden Labs near Luna's north pole. They had been abandoned abruptly a decade or two ago, with all equipment dismantled and installed within the growing Palace.

As such little remained worth defending and it was easy enough to convince the Adepts in charge of Luna that security was better needed elsewhere to deal with the threats posed by numerous cult activities and escaped specimen. The specimen had been released for this purpose and the cults were rival organizations that existed in the shadows while not following the four.

By the seventh month Sagitari, his fellow Elect and a squad of specially grown Gene-Warriors had snuck deep into the Lunar Fortress. The plan was working perfectly. Sagitari 17 prayed silent thankful prayers to the Four the entire journey. Sneaking through maintenance shafts, and side passages they crept deeper and deeper into the hidden laboratory where twenty stolen children were given flesh.

Sagitari 17 had not been born with a particularly powerful connection to the Immaterium but his contact with the Aspects had strengthened the connection. Even so, he on some level though even a psychic blunt would be able to feel what was below him. The whispers were growing in intensity but they were not the only thing echoing through the realm of aspects.

It was a choir, a faint haunting choir of voices singing in unison. With each descended kilometer the choir increased in volume and clarity. Until finally as they reached the inner labs the horrible truth could be discerned. The choir was composed of thousands of screams.

After multiple days of crawling through the lab's bowls, they had made it to the holy of holies. Where the Four had attempted and failed to rescue their children. The screaming and whispers continued to increase with every step as the devout journeyed into the central chamber.

At the end of a dark ghostly hallway stood a great gate. Something in a language Sagitari could not read was carved into it. The inscription was circled by twenty haloed numerals and the psychic signals had reached migraine inducing heights. They had arrived.

Stolen Melta Charges were attached as Security Backdoors were activated. Confident that no alarms would be triggered the Gates' joints were burned away. Slowly, groaning like an injured giant the gate came crashing down. Immediately the psychic pressure intensified, wards and incantations placed both before and after the Primarchs removal were broken.

The group could just as much feel as see what lay at the chambers far end. Past twenty empty plinths where gestation capsules once stood and empty grooves where esoteric machinery had sat was a tear. A Tear in time and space taller than any man and a dozen centimeters wide at its maximum.

Constant never ending truths and secrets poured from the rip in a psychic stream that engulfed the group. Sagitari 17 could see the crack straining to open up wider and he felt a subconscious shiver run up his spine when he saw what prevented the Four-Aspects Gate from opening. Chains/Thread/Spells woven of fire and a sacrificed choir lashed the portal shut.

Like a twisted parody of a suture, the Emperor's power had kept the gate close, but the power of the Four was greater than the tyrants. The chains were stretched taut and the full power of the Pantheon pushed them to their absolute limits. All it would take was one last push to break the seal on salvation open.

The rituals and technological secrets possessed by the Creed of the Four Phases had been poured into the creation of two artifacts crucial in their plans. The first, which Sagitari carefully removed from his pack and unwrapped from its Lowa-Silk dressing was a knife.

Its blade was formed from volcanic glass that seemed to drink light in instead of reflecting like it should. The handle was golden and decorated with precious gems. Great expense had gone into buying this artifact from a wealthy Hy Brasil Antiquities dealer. The blade was one of the few items on Terra traceable to an impossible ancient civilization.

Three things were known about this near-mythical civilization. Human sacrifice was a central focus of its religion, blades like the one in Sagitari's grip were used in those rituals. The civilization collapsed when another empire crushed it through Guns, Germs, Steel, and Cruelty.

The psychic resonance of this blade that had claimed hundreds of thousands of sacrificial victims millennia ago was reborn with new sacrifices in the Creeds name. Enemies and dissenters were fed to the knife in order to grant it the myth-symbolism it needed to break the seal.

Whispered prayers were chanted as Sagitari approached the gate. He could feel the weight of destiny on him and if had been not genetically altered not too he would have been soaked in nervous sweat. Holding the Sacred Blade in hands made steady by years of surgical practice he raised it up and prepared to cut the Emperor's shackles. The truth had been shown to him countless times, a final push upon the binds and he would finally be free!

Just as he was a meter away from the gate the distinct hiss of a Stasis-Chamber depressurizing filled the dark room. The Creeds Elect froze in shock. For all their planning and influence both supernatural and otherwise one contingency had escaped them. The one left by the Emperor and his right hand.

Culuxus Eta's eyes snapped open as his stasis chamber opened. The proto-Assassin knew he would only awaken if his tomb was disturbed. The Grand Master had left him hidden away in this secret chamber to protect it, now the time had come to fulfill his duty.

Soul-Crushing dread filled the Elects souls, none of them had ever encountered anything remotely like what had just sprung from a stasis chamber hidden in the room's wall. All they knew was it felt utterly horribly wrong and it was killing them.

Sagitari 17 could only watch in mute horror as the black-clad thing ripped his bodyguards apart. Centuries of Lunar Gene-Lore did nothing to help the Warriors as their very souls were ripped from their bodies by the Skull-headed abomination.

Calypsis-2, a fellow elect who showed talent in the aspect of the Warp-Weaver summoned Lighting to strike the monster down. It fizzled to nothing as the thing tore her heart out while feasting on her soul. Calypsis-2's last gurgled words were "Complete the Ritu-"

Pulling himself out his stupor Sagitari turned to the gate, he felt like his movements were in slow motion as the unleashed monster charged him. The remaining elect could only throw themselves into its path to buy him time.

Sagitari did not see the thing snap the last bodyguard's neck, nor it feast on a curse or its caster. He could only stare into the abyss as the Obsidian Blade fulfilled its destiny and cut the seal. The Chamber was painfully silent for a moment as both psychic whispers and screams stopped. Then the Tyrants seal exploded in a shower of molten ectoplasm.

Eta pushed his gene-strengthened body to its limits as he fought to reach the rip. For the rest of his short existence, he would curse his failure. The Seal was broken and while he did not know it Eta for once had reason to be thankful for his pariah nature. For his mind did not echo with the Laughter of Thirsting Gods that poured from the Rip.

For a split second, Sagitari wondered if he had made a terrible mistake as the insane raucous laughter echoed through the chamber. The split second doubt was cast aside as he started into the widening Crack in reality. What he saw was beautiful and terrible beyond words. The full glory/horror of the warp was laid out before him.

Enchantments and genetic failsafes protected him from the madness that would have claimed any unprotected mortal. Yet his mind almost collapsed when he saw the face looking back at him through the now-portal. A twisted black Daemonic visage grinned at him. It was a face a thousand cultures had given to their Archfiends. The Crown Prince of Damnation let a cruel chuckle escape between his fangs before he reached out into the Materium.

The last thing First Generation Culuxus Operative Eta saw was a gigantic clawed hand reach out of the Crack. His nature let him see the true form of the Monster. The armor and flesh of countless hosts were soldered together into a classical supernatural shape that oozed black Warp-Vapor.

It moved at literally inhuman speeds and grabbed the Assassins head. Even with the oversized helm it barely filled the things, palm. Eta screamed in pain as it slowly crushed him, desperately the Pariah absorbed entire Lesser Neverborn worth of energy off the monster with no effect. In his last painfilled moments Eta realized his power to siphon warp-power was simply not enough. He was just a mortal and could never hope to stand against the Firstborn of the Warp.

The Fear and dread inspired by the Skull-headed thing disappeared when its head was reduced to a thin paste in the new monster's claws. The sheer panic the thing inspired more than replaced it. The Monster almost lazily pulled itself fully out of the portal. It crouched down to fit in the six-meter tall chamber. Great black wings stretched and retracted as its horned head swung around the chamber observing the three surviving Elect.

In a voice both physical and psychic that rattled Sagitaris bones, it spoke calmly: "I am Bel'akor: The Dark Master. Kneel before me mortals and be rewarded for your efforts"

Shakily the three knelt before the monster and awaited their fate. Sagitari looked away from the creature, it was painful to look at. Its very presence seemed to taint reality. When-ever he dared to sneak a glance he felt nauseated. When it moved it was like the universe needed a moment to processes the action, and could not fully translate what it did. The laws of physics were weakened by its very presence.

The Psychic effect was similarly horrible. It was like a like a Dark-Star burning with malice and cruel intellect was drawing his soul into its gravitational pull and searing patterns of evil and insanity into his very being.

"The second item? Do you have it?" the monster growled.

Nervously Sagitari 17's only equal on the mission Pelia 7 removed the item from her pack. While his had been purchased and consecrated hers had been crafted and imbued with power. It appeared a simple Goblet carved from Granite and inlaid with rubies. In truth, it was one of the most complicated items ever crafted on Luna.

Using warpborn knowledge and the Genetic Mastery of the Selenar this artifact could be used to create virtually infinite amounts of biological matter, even that touched by the warp. Pelia 7 lifted the chalice up towards Bel'akor. The First Prince pricked his palm with a claw and allowed a few drops of jet black blood fall into the goblet.

With cruel expectant eyes, he watched them and spoke: "Now the final part of the ritual."

The Grail could duplicate anything, even the Aspect Incarnate before thems blood, for a price. It needed a similar enough substance to overwrite. Sagitari grabbed the third survivor and held her neck above the grail. Praying softly he slit the panicking women's throat and it poured into the goblet. When it touched Bel'akors blood it instantly turned as black as his.

Soon the goblet was filled and the women's body slumped to the ground. Smiling the Aspect Incarnate moved back towards the portal and spoke. "Continue the destiny the Four have picked for you, poison the Legions with my blood and prepare for the promised day. My power has filled this chamber and the Anathema will not be able to tell what has occurred here unless he gets too close."

Like a great Draconic Serpent, The Dark Prince of Chaos slithered back through the portal with a final warning "Do not disappoint us, there is much at stake and the war has not even begun."

With that, the monster that would haunt the two survivors minds for the rest of their existence faded back into the Immaterium. The Crack shrunk and they stood in silence. Sagitari knew the atrocities he had committed were just the start of many, but he also knew any price was worth freeing his people from the Emperor's shackles. Much had to be done to prepare for the promised day and he would show the Four his devotion and that humanity was worthy of them.


	18. Chapter 15: The Aquila and the Dragon

Chapter Fifteen: The Aquila and the Dragon.

(A.N. Sorry for the delay on this one. I had to rewrite about half it when I realized the first version honestly sucked. I hope its well worth the wait. Also to answer some complaints I can already see coming details about the Dark Age of Technology, the Cybernetic Revolt/Iron War and the Dragon are all extremely sketchy so I was forced to make due with guesswork, theories, and plain old creativity. Hopefully, you won't have to wait as long for Chapter 16.)

Location: The Temple of All Knowledge on Mars.

Date: 792.M30

Billions of Martians cheered as the great gates of the Temple opened. A month ago word spread across the red planet that discussion between the Mechanicum Parliament and the Omnissiah. Pilgrims ranging from devout Cyber-Serfs to entire Titan Legions had come to Tharsis. With hopes of seeing the Omnissiah and to learn the outcome of the secret proceeding inside Olympus Mons.

Very little information had passed in or out of the Temple of All Knowledge. All that was known to the public was the preceding events. Such as the Omnissiah arriving in a Divine Chariot that even now hung over the Mountain, casting a literal and metaphorical shadow of the so-called Imperium.

Then after performing multiple miracles, including inspiring two god machines to kneel before him the Omnissiah entered the Temple and made his way to the Parliament within. Flanked by House Taranis Knights he had surprisingly politely asked the complete Martian Parliament to assemble.

It had taken some time and quite a bit of political cajoling on the front of various converted individuals to arrange this soon enough the entirety of the Martian Elite were under one roof with the Emperor of Mankind. Then his intent was declared plainly. To fuse the Empire of Terra and the Empire of Mars into one.

The initial shock and outrage were quelled when the Emperor had explained his goal of unification, not conquest. His goal was to bring humanity together as one great civilization capable of withstanding any horror the universe could produce. Terra and Mars were to be the twin Foundation and Keystone pieces of this edifice.

Soon the Adamantium vault doors of the Parliament were shut and negotiations began in earnest. The Martian citizenry was ignorant of whatever was occurring within the fortified heart of Mechanicum governance. Radical factions both supporting and opposing the newly declared Omnissiah were kept under control thanks to the twin threats of the Bucephalus and the various Cybernetic, Skitarii, and Titan forces brought by the Parliamentarians.

Over the next year Mars awaited any news, tensions continued to mount and three attempted breaches into the Parliament-Sanctum were stopped with extreme prejudice. Now, this period of unknown fearful possibility had ended with the Omnissiah and the Martian Parliament exiting the sanctum and making their way out of the temple of all knowledge.

The crowd's noise, a mix of organic voices, vox-projections and binary screams traveled far through even Mars's thin atmosphere. The closest to the opening gates watched the twin Titans kneel once again as the Omnissiah made his way to the center of the plaza outside of the Temple.

All 687 members of the Martian Parliament assembled around him in a great semicircle. The Emperor held his left hand aloft for the countless citizens and Pict-Capturers to see. In it was an ornate scroll emblazoned with a Twin-Headed Eagle. It unfurled and nearly reached the Emperor's knee. Written on the exquisite vellum in the Emperor's own hand the first copy of The Treaty of Olympus Mons was proudly displayed.

Speaking through every Vox transmitter on the hemisphere the Omnissiah addressed Mars. "Children of Mars, once in ages past humanity was scattered to the stars. Countless worlds looked to distant Sol as the cradle and nexus of the species. It was an era of wonders where we claimed the stars as our own. Humanity grew to never before seen height and unlocked the secrets of the cosmos."

The Martians like so many of Terras lost children carried ancient cultural memories of the Golden Age. Wistful tales passed down hundreds of generations that spoke of Utopia and its destruction. With those tales swirling through the mind of his captive audience the Emperor continued.

"Yet this Age of Glory came to an end when the twin threats of Metal and Flesh let the galaxy burn. Anima Silica, artificial minds created by us in our quest for knowledge and power brought unimaginable ruin. The threat of Metal shattered the once united worlds of Man."

For the Mechanicum the Abominable Intelligence was not a distant nightmare like on so many worlds, but an ever-present threat creeping below the Rust-wastes. Every year expeditions sent to scavenge long lost ruins disappeared. Even now some of the more remote Forges kept formidable defenses and security not to deter rivals, but keep the source of distant binary-screeches that traveled on Iron-flaked winds away.

Feeling the attention of billions upon him the Emperor continued: "This shattered domain was still reeling from the War against the Iron Ones when the threat of Flesh reared its head. Warp touched humans were once rare, not any longer. The Immaterium reached new frenzies of madness and isolated the shards of man. Their they were easy prey to things brought forth from broken minds, and Alien monsters"

"The Age of Wonders ended long ago and now we have survived an Age of Darkness. That age is at an end. No longer shall we cower isolated in the shadows, fearing parasites and scavengers. The time has come for a new age! An age of Unification! An Age of Imperium!"

"For far too long humanities twin homes of Terra and Mars have been alone in the dark. Today I come seeking unification. Not conquest, not subjugation but unity. Over the past year, the Lords of Mars and I have negotiated the first Treaty of Unification. Mars and Terra will be twins no longer but one! A heart to a new Empire of Humanity. One that will drive out the darkness and usher in a new and eternal Golden Age!"

"I have come not as a conqueror but a uniter. This treaty is not shackles or a surrendering of sovereignty but an opportunity to become part of the greatest undertaking in Human History! So I leave the choice to the Citizens of Mars. Will you join the newborn Imperium of Man and help claim our species birthright?"

For a few seconds loaded with the weight of destiny, all of Mars was silent. Not a single human voice, mechanical or otherwise spoke, and the great factories and industrial complexes seemed all the quieter for it. A single voice buried deep within the Tharsis crowd broke the silence. The young Tech-Priestess breathed in a deep breath only possible due to the Omnissiah's blessing and shouted as loud as her mortal vocal cords could: "THE OMNISSIAH WILLS IT!"

The minute those fateful words left her mouth The Red Planet erupted. Billions chanted that simple yet Galaxy-Changing phrase. Titan Warhorns blared, Industrial Vox-Emitters were repurposed, and translations of that phrase in the countless binary dialects of Mars echoed through the Data-streams of the Mechanicum.

Eventually, the Great Data-Stacks of the Temple of All knowledge would contain as many recordings of this moment as possible in a Data-Loom set aside singularly for recording the Year Long period known to the history books as The Aquilas Forging.

As the Chanting continued to shake Tharsis the Emperor handed the Scroll to the Fabricator General of Mars. The ancient cyborg bowed low and prepared to have the treaty copied and dispersed across Mars. Briefly locking eyes with the Speaker for the Parliament the Emperor could see the haunted look the 687 would all share till their deaths even through his extensive cybernetics.

The Emperor had originally not wanted to use his powers and memories to persuade mortals, it had the unfortunate side effect of causing religious zealotry and occasionally psychosis in those who were gifted visions. Experiences with Uriah and his new begrudging realization that stamping out religion was not feasible had made the Emperor more liberal with this particular use of Psychic power.

Negotiations had gone smoothly. This version of the treaty was based on a template he and Malcador had devised when the earliest plans for the Imperium were created. It contained a set of parameters and the more optimal outcomes within those parameters. The Treaty of Olympus Mons was almost perfect using those measurements.

Mars would be considerably less independent than in the God-Emperor's age, instead of The Imperium and Mechanicum being symbiotic civilizations the Adeptus Mars and Adeptus Terra would form the core of the Imperium. Mars was entrusted with manufacturing, innovation, and exploration. Dangerous technologies were regulated or strictly forbidden and records of all discoveries or innovations were given to Terra.

Each of these points and the hundreds of other articles composing the Treaty had been accompanied by a vision. Each was taken from the Emperor's own mind or that of a soul linked to his. The visions explicitly demonstrated the reasons for the article and its importance. The effect had been tremendous and Revelations could have probably pressed for complete subjugation if he wished.

As appealing as that sounded he knew the long-term effects of such a thing would be disastrous. Mars could not be subjugated through force of arms or will. It would need to join the Imperium willingly in order to prevent future cataclysms. A Martian Schism would be just as disastrous for humanity as a Heresy-War, if not more so.

Knowing it would take one final push to bring the Mechanicum fully under his sway the Emperor spoke again to the crowd that by this point was near-deranged in religious zealotry. The instant he motioned for silence it fell across the Plaza and Mars in a ripple of respect.

"Before this date, I wore a simple Bird-of-Prey as my sigil. This ancient mark of nobility represented humanities history and our power and ability to reach new heights. It has served me well but a new sigil is required! One to represent the unity of humanity! The age of the Raptor Imperialis is over, now is the Era of the Aquila!"

Crossing his hands over his chest in a salute that would be used originally secularly then eventually religiously in the God-Emperor's age The Emperor of Mankind formed the Aquila. When his palms touched the ornate Auramite of his breastplate the ignited with psychic power. Using a mixture of telekinesis, pyrokinesis, and technopathy he reforged the Raptor on his chest into a mighty twin-headed eagle.

Once the forging was finished he opened up his arms as to greet all of Mars, from his armored fingertips Psychic power flowed. A massive Aquilla formed of golden fire came into existence and flew from the Emperor's hands into the sky. It grew in size and complexity as it ascended. Slowly becoming a colossal double-headed Eagle with thunderbolts for plumage that circled the plaza.

It reached the size of an Escort Craft and soared over Olympus Mons. A trail of psi-sparks marked its path and it periodically let out a victorious screech. The Martians watched it with utmost reverence and responded with a content stillness to the sight, in major contrast to their previous reactions.

Confident the Mechancium had been secured the Emperor left the titanic Plaza. His honor guard of knights instinctually surrounded him as he made his way back towards the Bucephalus. The Crowd parted for him but still jostled to get a better view of the Omnissiah.

In a reverse of the procession, he had made one Martian year ago he ascended Olympus Mons and returned to his ship. With negotiations done soon the implementation of the treaty would begin. Then, at last, the great forges of Mars would start work on the tools of conquest needed to secure humanities future.

Subliminal hints had been instilled in the Martian Parliament and a select few his Psychic Aquila-Construct had identified as it soared across Mars before eventually fading. Those affected would subconsciously ease the Mechanicum in a more progressive direction. Another of the many steps that would be taken to wean humanity off of Religion and ensure its survival.

Yet now before anything else was to begin the Emperor would rest and learn of what was occurring on Terra. The Custodes greeted him with the closest approximation to relief possible to them. Communiques from the Palace and Terra flooded in. Update on Palace construction, infrastructure projects, the Legions and most importantly the Primarchs were presented to him.

Everything seemed to be going as planned on all fronts. Except for a few coded messages from Malcador. The appearance of the Nighthaunter was worrying but it had been dealt with. The Emperor wondered what possible twisted things were being planned by the Primordial Annihilator. It appeared they intended to use the shift of the timeline against him. Cutting their losses and hoping to get some sort of advantage it appeared.

The incident with Magnus was also troubling but appeared to have been dealt with and the results were optimum. Yet the Emperor was distressed by the many ways it could have imploded. The XVth primarch was far too important to risk in such a way. Taranis would need to be strictly forbidden from doing anything similar, without his or Malcadors permission that is.

Another was a strange long distance sensor readout. It appeared a flotilla of ramshackle Starships had transitioned at Sols Mandeville Point closest to Terra. The fleet had made a frantic dash for Terra. Xeno raiders had picked off a third of it before they reached Terra's orbital defenses.

The flotilla was captured and its crew was discovered to be thousands of refugees from a nearby star-system that had followed a Holy-Women's vision of the "Light of Salvation" The Emperor was not particularly surprised. This was going to be a side effect of the Astronomicons power. If used correctly this could significantly help unification efforts.

The last of these messages was a simple report. It told of a disturbance on Luna, where some sort of cogitator glitch had released the Guardian of the Lab by accident. The Gene-Cult representatives and Adepts stationed their both confirmed nothing was amiss and the situation was handled.

A faint smile crossed the Emperor's features. It was one of the few true ones in his time on Mars. Not a theatrical one or the way a human interpreted him, but an actual smile of pleasure. The Primordial Annihilator claimed to be a pantheon of Gods, yet they were far bigger fools than even the Master of the Webway who claimed to be the God of such things.

Throughout his very long life, Revelation had a taste for strategy games. Chess, Go, Shogi, Draughts, Crowns, Warfield, Naruag, Regicide and similar. The very first lesson of those games was utterly lost upon the self-proclaimed "Dark Gods." As beings of gluttony and insanity, the concept of sacrificing a lesser piece to win the game was beyond them.

Finishing reading the messages the Emperor continued on to his next ordeal, Cawls fate. The Parliament had been extremely harsh and wanted to messily execute or lobotomize the rogue Priest. Bribes, threats, logic and millennia of oratory skill did little to make them budge. Belisarius Cawl had managed to antagonize nearly all of Mars to an extreme degree.

Eventually, he had gotten them to the point where two options were offered to Cawl. First was the memory eraser and exile he had suffered in another age. The other was complete banishment. He would never set foot on Mars or another Forge World. His skitarii and other servants would be taken to Mars and mindwiped. If Cawl was caught working on any Mechanicum technology he would be tortured to death.

When he told Cawl his options he did not even hesitate before taking the first option. The Tech-Priest was confident his skills would keep him alive long enough to return to Terra and retrieve his Inferior. The Emperor thanked him for his service and wished him luck on his journeys. Belisarius Cawl bowed to his Master and simply responded "The pleasure was mine, the opportunity to study at the feet of humanities greatest mind, no matter the consequences is unparalleled"

He was escorted off the vessel and taken into Skitarii custody. After that, the Emperor retired to his personal chambers. His weapons and armor were removed and stored with utmost care. The new sigil was documented by his Armorers and word was already being sent to Terra to change the patterns on future Armor for the Custodes and Astartes. Once alone in his meditative chamber, he reached out psychically into the Ships heart.

Similar to the Astronomicon he was linked to the Bucephalus and could power its systems even from a considerable distance. The Cognatu Ferrum's design required far less energy than that great beacon but far more precision and could be remotely controlled by maybe a single AU away instead of the thousands of Lightyears of the Astronomicon.

The Cognatu Ferrum reacted instantly and signaled it was ready to fulfill his commands. The Emperor activated a unique program that only he and the Psychic-Intelligence knew of. It was an advanced piece of Psychic-Engineering that used the nature of the Cognatu Ferrum in a unique fashion.

The Ship was powered and controlled by a Psychic Echo of the Emperor and he intended to create an echo of that echo. Energy poured from the Emperor into the vessel and soon a flickering outline appeared before him. Focusing his power into the prism of the Cognatu Ferrum he watched the glowing shadow come into clearer detail. It was a copy of the Emperor.

The Cognatu Ferrum had created a Psychic hologram of the Emperor, it matched him perfectly in appearance, psychic signature, and aura. He could communicate through it remotely and no sensor, be it material or immaterial could detect it was not actually him. It would provide the Emperor a smokescreen.

No one, not even his Custodes could know what he was about to do. The Projection would ensure his secrecy as he went to deal with the other reason he had come to Mars. It was time for the man named Revelation and known by countless other titles and names to meet with an old friend and enemy. The time had come for him to revisit the reason for one of his oldest titles: Dragonslayer.

The Emperor's quarters were sparse, not yet holding the various mementos, trophies, and piles of official documents it would fill with throughout the Great Crusade. A Bed, meditation space, desk, small library, workstation, and wardrobe. The last of those items was now the focus of the Emperor's attention.

Within it was a collection of uniforms, robes and other garments the Emperor wore when not on the field of war. Of these clothes, he sought one in particular. It was an ancient relic from the worst days of Strife. It was another of the Emperors inventions, a suit of woven nano-gossamer inlaid with Psi-reactive crystals. It was known as the Shadow of Judgment.

It looked like a pool of liquid shadows suspended in a magnetic cradle. Revelation did not so much don it, as immerse himself in the inky material. It flowed over his bare skin and clothing like oil. Soon his entire body was covered with the substance. Taking a deep breath right as it covered his head the Emperor let his power flow into the Psychic-circuits carved into the very molecules of the suit.

Reacting to its master the material formed around him and molded itself into a suit of armor. Unlike the hulking warplate, he wore when leading armies to battle this was a more subtle tool. Designed to allow him unrestricted accesses and subtlety the Shadow of Judgment was arguably the single greatest piece of Man-portable stealth technology in human history.

Nanotechnology scavenged Eldar relics, and the Emperors own genius had come together to give an Emperor the secrecy he needed to salvage as much as he could during Mankind's fall. He remembered viscerally the sights and sounds of the last times he had worn this armor. An age when humanity did not need a champion and ruler to save them. When the only salvation was to hide in the shadows and beg the storm passed you over.

*Sneaking through Hive-sized abominations of scrap metal and insanity, desperately searching for its Singularity Unit as it lumbered towards a refugee camp of 50 Million innocents.*

*Gangs of Drug-Addled and depraved Eldar stalking him through the burning Capital City of Eldaneshuri*

*Breaking into Vaults that were meant to survive an apocalypse, and had.*

The Armor finally settled around him, its design was reminiscent of a great bird of prey and combined with the Emperor's own skills and powers made him virtually undetectable. To those who he wanted to see him, he appeared like an Obsidian Eagle carved out of the shadows. Suitably intimidating for the line of work it was built for.

Letting his body and mind settle into routines not used in centuries Revelation became a phantom of the likes of Konrad, Kota, and Kalib aspired to be. Even his Custodes were unaware as he slipped past them. Removed from their minds and auto-senses he was undetectable.

Soon he exited the Bucephalus through its open ramp. Right in between the Custodes and Knights who had spent the last few hours staring at each other from either end of the gantry. Into the Martian Night, Revelation flew. He rarely got to use his bodies full capabilities, the Emperors physical form was a highly variable thing that could be modified how over he wished.

Millenia of knowledge in the fields of Biomancy, Transhumanism, and simple biology had given him absolute control over every cell in his being. Combined with his psychic gifts the Emperor could appear as anyone and virtually anything. Now he was an Avian-Shadow moving as fast as Superhuman Muscle and Nano-fibers could.

Within seconds he had cleared the crater's edge and jumped dozens of meters into the air. Mars low gravity made his expedition that much quicker. Moving like a black bolt of lighting across the ancient peak of Olympus Mons the Emperor allowed himself a few moments of tranquillity.

Life had been a frantic, painful race against time over the last few millennia and moments of enjoyment like this were few and far between. A few decades ago he would not have allowed himself the simple joy of testing his own physicality, duty and stress had threatened to crush the humanity of the eldest human.

That message from a distant hopefully averted future had reignited the Emperor's humanity. While he had intended to have the Primarch project drain some of his more excessive emotions it would have only turned him into such a callous figure if he had allowed it. That version of the Emperor had been willing and wanted to give up his humanity to save the species.

The Emperor who now leaped between colossal industrial sites as if they were a gymnasium had realized that humanity needed a human leader. If he gave up his emotions and sentiment he would be a perfect machine to control the destiny of mankind. Gazing out across the pocked surface of Mars he was viscerally reminded of what had happened the last time something similar had occurred.

While the Memories were still blurry and partially concealed Revelation had a suspicion there was more to the story of the God-Emperor's decay and the cause of the Heresy. He could only hope the trust he had put in that living corpse and its decisions was the correct choice.

Any attempt to unlock Memories before the God-Emperor had wanted them to be had been met with Psychic warnings that they would be deleted if he continued. So now he could only wait and use the wisdom of the past and future to help forge a better present.

Keeping his speed to below Martian Mach speed in order to prevent notable air-disturbance the Emperor quickly approached the Edge of Olympus Mons. Here the ancient Shield Volcano's slopes dropped away into a twenty-kilometer cliff-face of time-worn stone. A different Emperor would have slithered down its side and crept through the industrial landscape below. Emperor Revelation: the Master of Mankind and Anathema of Chaos leaped off the precipice.

Armored Wings expanded from his shoulder blades and carried the Emperor aloft. The Martian atmosphere prevented mechanical flight but the wings served a purpose. The Psi-Crystals within the wings could be energized separately from the main armor allowing telekinetic propulsion that was subtle enough to remain undetected while powerful enough to allow Supersonic flight. This allowed the armors body to maintain its other functions.

Like a shadow of the great Aquila, he had summoned a few hours previous the Emperor soared over Mars. The industrial landscape before him was a patchwork of craters, (both natural and unnatural) living habs and colossal Forges-Temples that belched ash and dust into the sky. He found it saddening how Mars had reverted to its earliest roots. When the Red Planet was first settled humanity had migrated nearly all of its industrial techbase to it. The move was what saved Earths rapidly declining biosphere and helped push humanity towards interstellar civilization.

Eventually, during the Golden Age, the second capital of humanities state as an industrial disaster zone was deemed unacceptable and massive cleanup and terraforming projects were put in place. Research centers and industrial complexes were buried far beneath Mars surface in great futuristic catacombs that held millennia of acquired knowledge and insight into the cosmos. After centuries of world-shaping miracles, Terra shared its title of Blue Gem of Sol with another.

That world could maybe live again if the galaxy and sanity could survive the oncoming storm. Eventually, the heavily industrialized landscape below started to transition to the Crimson deserts of Mars. He was close to his destination, it was a place that Martians had avoided for as long as humans had set foot on this planet. The Noctis Labyrinthus: The Dragons Tomb.

The twelve hundred kilometers long scar on Mars's face had originally been bought by a number of shell companies owned by Revelation during the early Martian expansion. It had been a major legal scandal when the media discovered the Companies were dumping radioactive, toxic and industrial waste into what was one of the wonders of the Solar System.

This had prevented the area from being declared a Natural Wonder and becoming a much-visited location along with helping galvanize the public to campaign for better stewardship of humanities cultural and natural wonders. These were both the Emperor's goals and the Labyrinthus had been protected successfully, until the living hell of the Cybernetic Revolt.

The Emperor had always known the day when the thing he had sealed below Mars's surface would awake would come. Yet it struck at the single worst moment, during the Lost War. Humanity was fighting a pitched battle against the Ancient Aeldari Empire.

The Solar Federation had reached never before seen heights of technological and societal advancement. None could question their might and wisdom. Countless species had been integrated or vassalized into this commonwealth. Seeing visions of the inevitable Fall of the Eldar and the horrors it would unleash Revelation had pushed humanity into crushing the only other contender on the galactic scale.

It was easy to do, the Aeldari Empire had earned the ire of all sentient life through their cruelty and sadism. The few human psychics along with their Xeno equivalents could sense the growing tumor within the Immaterium and knew action must be taken. Armadas and Armies greater than anything the galaxy had seen except for the War in Heaven amassed at Arcadia: the Last Harbor.

The Emperor himself, masquerading as a Transhuman General lead from the front during the conflict. It was a horrible period of death and destruction. Echoing the War the Aeldari were designed to fight the Masters of the Materium and Immaterium battled. Every battle was a pitched conflict that often ended in deadlock. Yet steadily, slowly the Solar Federation pushed deeper and deeper into the tainted heart of the Galaxies current rulers.

The sights they saw drove some of the weaker soldiers insane and would haunt even the most ancient and battle-hardened Veteran of the Beast Wars for the rest of their lives. Planet wide blood-orgies were legions of hunters, once followers of Kuronos continuously brought billions of innocents to be used in the maddening debauchery. Pocket Dimensions filled with living art that still screamed and begged for death even after gouts of Plasma had reduced them to cinders.

These and other nightmares had utterly validated the worthiness of their cause and invigorated the Federation Forces. The Knife-Ears would be put to the blade as punishment for their countless evils. Worlds that had been centers of Aeldari civilization before humans had even become fully upright were purged. Mechanical hosts battled Warp-Born abominations and for a scant moment it seemed the era of the Aeldari was at an end,

The Seers and Soothsayers of their enemy must have sensed it too for they devised a truly horrific scheme to cripple Humanity. It was brilliant, vindictive and utterly brazen. They intended to release the thing sleeping below Mars. Confident that after it had crippled the upstart Mon'keigh the Yngir Dragon would be easy to slay. For they had done it once an age ago, what was to stop them from doing it again?

Sensing their intent the Emperor rushed back to Sol to stop the insanity. He could still remember it viscerally, Eldar blood cooking on his blood as he moved through the ancient Metal tunnels. The deep bass hum of the emerald energy that started to seep through the cavern cracks. How the Eldar had looked at him when he entered the Dragon's Heart. Sadistic glee played across the vermins face as it screamed in heavily accented Gothic "Too late Mon'keigh! Your fate has been decided by your better. This is your punishment for daring to stand against the rightful masters of the galaxy!"

The Emperor still savored the memory of the Seers face contorting first in confusion, then mind breaking fear once it realized the power of the being before it. That was little consolation for the damage done by the Xeno's. After erasing it from existence Revelation attempted to keep the Dragon sealed.

Ages past in his youth he had cast the monster down after discovering it feeding off primitive humans. It had been weak and near dead then. If he had been an instant faster that would have still been the case. At that moment before Revelation reached it the Dragon had slipped its Eldritch Tendrils into the Neurosphere. The grand data-web that linked humanity across the Stars had been breached.

Like the ravenous predator, it was the Dragon gorged itself on the trillions of digital life forms living within the Neurosphere. Entire civilizations of digitized Humans were slaughtered and consumed. Data-Habs were emptied into the Monsters maw in a futile effort to satiate its endless hunger for sentient life.

Those unlucky enough to be spared the devouring were corrupted, an intellect older than Terra itself turned its malignant desire to creating new slaves and thralls. Super Intelligences that had faithfully served humanity since the Age of Old Earth ordered the extermination of worlds. Uploaded ancestors and Cybernetic gods butchered trillions.

The Solar Federations mighty fleets broke apart, busy fighting corrupted members and racing back to Federations Space in a vain attempt to stop the Slaughter. The Galaxy burned as allied species that had sworn blood-oaths of loyalty and brotherhood to humanity turned upon us. The Eldar were content to watch the insanity and slither back into their debauchery undisturbed.

Machines and cruel intelligences unleashed weapons beyond the understanding of mortal humans. The Neurosphere became the Dragons domain and the Federation was fractured. Each world desperate to survive the Cybernetic Holocaust. Silica Animus, once humanities greatest ally and tool became its downfall.

Yet before the Dragon-Reborn could slip its fetters and began its conquest and consumption Revelation reached it. The Dragon and the Warrior-King faced each other once again. Glutted on the energy of entire civilizations the Dragon was quickly becoming the Lord of Oblivion that broke the Old Ones, yet as long as it was bound its might was diminished.

The Dragon had indeed grown mighty but so had Revelation. The psychic light of the being now known as the Emperor of Mankind called to all human souls untouched by the Great Enemy. Any fallen Child of Terra who was within its range became one with it. Protected and safe they could rest for eternity as their psychic spark increased the might of the Emperor.

For over thirty-three millennia Revelation had protected humanity and grown in power and wisdom. Reaching heights only ever matched by the Greatest of the Old Ones. Now the deaths of trillions who had been lucky enough to be within the glow of the Beacon network empowered him further. It was one of the Federations most classified secrets that he provided the spark to the Navis-Networks series of Warp-Pyres.

The Dragon and Dragonslayer both reaching a state any mortal would call Godhood clashed. Material and Immaterial energies battled as the Federation crumbled. Through Herculean effort, Revelation plunged his ancient blade into its neck and bound it with chains of white-hot psychic power.

Psi-Flames burned through the Dragon and the visceral roars it produced shook the very fabric of spacetime. Yet it still reached out through the Neurosphere, that domain utterly within its grasp. The Iron War would only worsen if the Dragon could still manipulate the Legions of Automata and Digitized Humans future generations would name the Men of Iron.

With a heavy heart, the Dragonslayer unleashed a final and terrible weapon. One that would protect humanity and the galaxy from the Dragon while also destroying so much the species had worked for. This final weapon was born from the ignorance and arrogance of the Dragon.

The greatest mistake and weakness of the so-called Star-Gods was a product of their very nature. The long dead species that gave them form had mistaken them for simple but powerful Energy beings, but they were so much more. The race the Hrud called Mirror-Devils had found living avatars of the cosmos's natural order and molded them into Cruel Gods.

Entropy became a Reaper of Life. Gravity and Love became linked and went insane. Energy sought nothing but ruin an inferno. The greatest and most terrible of these avatars was Time given Draconic shape. The Lord Oblivion that had slept within the Red Planet. As incarnates of Natural laws and fundamental constants the Realm of Impossibility was not just corrosive and destructive but outside their influence and sight.

If the Dragon had not been blind to the Warp it would have never breached the Neurosphere. For this great domain of information and data was not some massive computer network or Data-link like the Dragon thought. It had been built into a pocket of sanity within the Warp itself using impossible technology. These Akashic Records had been crafted to safeguard all human knowledge and digital creations. The Dragon had violated them and consumed its inhabitants, and exposed itself.

In a great psychic blow, Revelation ripped open the envelope of reality than contained the Neurosphere. The frothing acidic insanity of the Warp surged into the semi-digital realm of mankind's wonders. Like an ocean of cancerous bile, it filled and corrupted this new domain. Adding a new source of corruption and horror to taint the increasingly mad mechanical legions

Legions of Steel and Electricity fell upon themselves as the twin corruptions of Dragon and Daemons battled. The twin calamities of humanities suffering and the Eldars debauchery stirred the Warp into a frenzy unseen since the End of the War in Heaven.

The Psychic backlash had coursed through the Neurosphere and into the Dragons own being. Forcing it back fully into its own body where it was bound utterly by Revelations power. Poisoned by the Warp and broken by Emperor-to-be it returned to its previous existence as a Dead-God Dreaming.

Now the Emperor of Mankind had come to ensure the imprisonment of the Dragon, ensure the survival and sanity of its Guardian and maybe just maybe gain yet another weapon in the War against the Great Enemy. As much as the Yngirs nature made them a victim of the Warp it offered a measure of protection from one of its weapons. The sight into possibility offered by the Warp was always murky in regards to them.

It was worryingly similar to a Blank or Pariah in some ways. An empty spot on the canvas of destiny that could only be deciphered by viewing the picture around it. In the God-Emperor's reality, this expedition never occurred, yet his own visions of the future changed by the Primarchs new fate and memories from his broken counterpart informed him this was the best path to take. With grim certainty, the Emperor of Mankind clad in the Shadow of Judgment reached the entrance to the Dragons tomb.

Landing softly the Emperor willed his armor to change from its eerie avian appearance to a more subtle battle-plate. The rocky crag where he stood hid one of the numerous entrances into the sprawling tomb of the Dragon. During the 17th wave of Martian colonization, Revelation had bankrolled a secretive construction project in and around the Noctis Labyrinth. Supposedly it tried and failed to clean up the pollution Revelation himself was responsible. Unknown to all except him and that eras acolytes were the truths of the project.

A colossal subterranean series of chambers had been constructed around the broken corpse of the Dragon. Ornamental chains to encircle the desiccated remains of the Star-God. Millenia ago it had housed research facilities and monitoring stations. Many wonders of the Age of Technology were helped by the secrets deciphered there. From animated Shards sealed away on Medusa to vicious nanite plagues.

That was all gone now, the Dragons tomb had become truly that. An empty ruin that acted as both container for the corpse of a Fallen God and as a monument to Mankind's rise, fall and if the Shining Path was walked Eternal rise. Now it was time to meet with the tombs ghost and its keeper.

Telekinetically the Emperor moved the boulder that blocked the entrance and walked into the eerie abyss. Shutting the stone behind him he began his journey deeper into the tomb. The polished basalt echoed softly with his footfalls. He cared not if any heard them, it was better this way actually. Catching a mad-inventor no matter what era they originated from unaware was a distasteful proposition.

Through miles of tunnels he journeyed. Broken machinery and facilities littered the tomb and the only illumination was a faint sickly green glow. It would have been undetectable to any being whose senses were less advanced than a Primarchs. To the Emperor, it was a bright ugly beacon that guided the way through the crumbling chambers.

Even with his superhuman speed, it took the Emperor an hour to reach his destination. The Dragon Gate lay before him. The massive adamantium structure was the single portal of entry to the Cavern below. Esoteric and Formidable technologies were interwoven in its very molecular structure.

Matter, energy, and more impossible things could not bypass the barrier. Even so, it would be utterly useless if the Dragon ever awoke. For this gate and most of the Tombs defenses were not built to keep the prisoner in but potential liberators out.

In some physics-defying way, the sickly green glow of Yngir technology seeped from between the twin doors of the gate. As if the impossible energies were alive and fighting to escape. The Dragon Gate was large enough for Titan class walkers to enter and the basic blueprint had actually been used in the designing of the Eternity Gate.

Aldar Singh the current Warmason and chief architect of the rapidly growing palace had learned decades ago not to ask why seemingly absurd things like the Gate were required. Many of the Emperor's followers and inner circle throughout the millennia had learned that ignorance was in no way bliss when it came to Revelations business, but helped keep them sane.

As he reached the titanic structure The Emperor reached out and touched its seemingly bare Adamantium surface. To any mortal lacking sufficient visual magnification, the gate seemed a massive perfectly smooth surface. In truth, every square centimeter of the structure was carved with infinitesimal circuits of both scientific and occult nature.

They were part of the defenses of the gate, providing protection from the most exotic of weapons, including Adrathic beams… Complicated self-regenerating energy fields organization from the Gate enclosed the Dragons corpse and as long as the gate held the Dragon's body and sealed remains could survive Exterminatus.

Recognizing one of the two surviving people permitted to open them at his touch the Gates hummed softly. They yielded under the Emperor's gentle push. More like oaken doors to a manner house then the ten thousand ton slabs of Adamantium barely suspended by Anti-Gravity that they were.

He passed through them and let the Gate shut silently. The only evidence of his passing was the waves of dust kicked up by its movement. The Green glow was omnipresent now. The air itself shimmered with etheric energies and stunk of ozone. Before him lay the entrance to the Dragons corpse.

Unlike the smooth basalt and machined perfection on the other side of the Gate, the chamber here was an ancient rough-hewn cavern. This was no research center but an excavation site. Ancient Gantries lined the Cavern walls, some leading to the left or right and a few being staircases to the bottom of the excavated cavern its siblings crossed. Yet the largest and most reinforced lead to the target of those long abandoned digs that formed the opposite wall of the Cavern.

Thousands of meters of mirror polished silver stretched in either direction. A small patch of the Dragons hide exposed and studied. Moving slowly along the decayed walkways the Emperor reached the reason the Dragon's gate was located at this particular part of the Tomb. This was not the most defensible nore deepest section of the tomb but the closest to the killing blow.

A Jagged puncture about two dozen meters tall and about hundred wide was the Cavern and gantries focus. The wound stretched from the beast's scales to its inner core. It was not the only of its kind. Six such marks were found at different parts of the Dragons corpse. All six intersected in the Dragon's heart.

Revelation could still remember the first time he entered this haunting chamber. The shock and wonder upon his then comparatively young face as he dragged the bound mass of writhing metal through the Martian sand. After subduing and crippling the Dragon a voice similar to the ancients who had guided him spiritually in his youth had led him here.

The Shamans souls had tutored him in the use of his powers and explained his duties as mankind's protector. That had been shortly after he left his home village. Eventually one by one they faded into his spirit, becoming one with him. No longer separate voices but part of the psychic chorus that composed his soul.

Each human soul protected by his light would meet that fate. It was not a painful nor dark experience. Humanities afterlife was not a place of punishment and reward but of rest and unification with those who had come before. The Shaman's had only stayed independent through their own formidable psychic powers and the ritual that had created him.

So it had been a great shock when he had heard the new voice. It felt and sounded like the ancestors but somehow much much older. It guided him through the Dragons binding after he bested it and told him where the rest of its body lay. Then it faded like the rest, but not without thanking him for finishing the task it couldn't. He would never admit it to anyone but aspects of his origin and being were unknown to even himself. That encounter was one of those occurrences that made him wonder.

As Revelation entered the Dragons wound he felt the metal. Unlike the Dragons smooth reptilian exterior or impossibly advanced mechanical innards this metal was warped and melted. More akin to badly welded metal or burnt steel than the perfect materials that made up the rest of the beast.

Revelation knew from experiments on the Dragons corpse nothing short of highly focused Psychic power would cause this level of damage. Anything else would heal almost instantly. Early studies had originally concluded the Dragon was somehow native to Mars. The complete lack of impact damage and crater had confused the first studies the Emperor had commissioned.

Eventually, they discovered the entire Noctis Labyrinthus was the Crater. Carefully and masterfully modified to appear as a natural feature by unknown Xeno hands. Revelation considered the Eldar the highest possible contender for such a role, considering their myths. The idea of them so close to Terra sickened him.

He knew for a fact some Aeldari Hunter-Cults had raided Terra during the Iron Age. Europa's cultural subconscious never fully recovered from it. He had personally killed the entirety of the Cult within the Sol system to stop the Xenos. Then he used the remains and his own abilities to blame a nearby Ork rampage. Two birds one stone. It amused him to know future versions of the once mighty Eldar would be reduced to similar tactics.

As he walked down the slowly descending wound he mused on what sort of technology or being could have done this to the Yngir. Theoretically, he was capable of such a feat of destruction, but he had never weaponized his power to that scale in the material realm. Whatever had done this had come extremely close to actually killing the Dragon. That was another mystery if crippling its body was the Old One's goal or the death of its mind.

Personally, the thought the latter. The knowledge he had ripped from the minds of an entire Hrud Juunlak about thirteen thousand years ago told him the destruction of a Yngir would bring cataclysm to the universe. There normally clear and accurate genetic memory only held sights of terrifying monsters formed from glowing Metal and slathered with flesh and blood flayed from hundreds of victims.

That Glow was the same as the one surrounding him, the sickly green glow of Yngir technology. In the Cauterized tunnel, it was significantly reduced. The joints and creases where it normally flowed from where melted shut here. Leaving the ragged puncture atypically dark. Only illuminated by the eerie glow far below at the tunnel's end and the occasionally Jacobs Ladder of green lighting that flowed up from his destination.

Following the miles long scar, he reached the inner core of the Dragon. Glowing Emerald light and an eternal storm of eldritch lighting greeted his senses as he left the passage. Below him was a titanic cavity. Easily a few kilometers both tall and wide. It was a nearly perfect sphere of the broken melted Living Metal. Six punctures including the one the Emperor stood at the lip of opened up into the cavity. Each fluting out into the scorched metallic-flesh/floor of the chamber.

Approximately Sixty million years ago something of incredible power had struck the Dragon with six beams of psychic might that cut through the Dragons defenses. The Psychic lances intersected and then detonated within the central and most heavily armored section of the Dragon. Utterly annihilating a vast portion of the Yngirs essence and subsystems.

A central piece of the Dragons mind and being survived the cataclysm intact. Its powers and mind were crippled utterly, becoming a ghost of the destroyer-deity it had once been. Its massive country sized body had been ruined. Warp Energy had flowed through its systems and poisoned what it had not broken. The Dragon was reduced to a lump of dumb metal hiding away in its own corpse.

Yet for some unknown reason, its foes did not pursue it for either capture of destruction. Instead, it was left in the very chamber the Emperor now stood. For almost sixty million years it had waited for its enemies to come, they never did. It was not ideal though in that abyss of time for it was time and that was all it needed.

Feeding off upper dimensional energies, forms of matter unknown to humanity even during its height and even more exotic forms of sustenance it grew. Like a metallic parody of gestating life, it grew in size, strength, and intellect. For sixty million years a being that had grown accustomed to devouring trillions and snuffing out suns had clung to its own parody of life inside a prison of its own dead flesh.

Finally after its epoch of suffering the Dragon was strong enough to leave its dessicated shell and bath in the light of its prisons star. Invigorated by the melody of radiation and energy abundant on the red worlds surface it took to the void in search of prey. It thought it found an easy meal upon the red planet's blue sibling. Revelation proved it very wrong upon the windswept dunes of the Sahara desert.

Now the Dragonslayer had returned to its ancient foes prison. Revelation looked up towards the center of the chamber where the impossible lighting enemated from. They're suspended in the center of the chamber was the Dragon. Chains forged in psychic fire and imbued with the Emperors own might coiled around its massive bulk. Each Chain led to an anchor point across the chamber forming a web of power and ritual importance. Perfectly designed to keep the Dragon asleep and sealed within its prison.

Occasionally the chains would rattle and a bolt of eldritch lighting would flare as the Yngir twitched in its forced sleep. Energy poured from its body and illuminated the chamber in the morbid green glow. Its form was still distinctly reptilian, a coiling serpentine body wrapped in wings designed to ride Solar Currents. Every time it shifted in its dreams the Dragon's body rippled like a pool of mercury. Exposing its loose grip on its own flesh and the world outside its Dead-Dreaming.

As Revelation approached the bottom of the chamber he noticed an oddity. Crafted from scrap metal and refuse found within the Tomb was a simple dwelling. A shack somehow anchored to the Chambers floor on stilts allowing to lay flat on the gently curving floor. As he approached it he heard a clamber of noises, the occupant was attempting to make its way out to meet him.

Clad in weathered and continuously repaired robes that had once been the brilliant Red of Martian rust-sand the Guardian of the Dragon exited his dwelling. He appeared neither old nor young. His true age of millennia hidden by the Emperor's power, yet like his liege the weight of ages could be seen in his green eyes. Adept Seymon: The Patron of Cybernetica, Father of Augments, Ancient Prophet of Deus Mechanicus and now Guardian of the Dragon knelt before the Emperor of Mankind.

As the nightmares of the Cybernetic Revolt ended and the start of the Age of Strife begin a few descendants of martian survivors who retained echoes of their ancestor's knowledge banded together. In order to preserve and expand the rapidly dwindling knowledge of the Martian People, they formed an organization built to guard and preserve the sacred machines that kept Mars alive.

Knowledge is Power, Knowledge is Survival and it must be Guarded. That was the creed of this ramshackle order who fought tooth and nail to protect the rapidly collapsing infrastructure and population of Mars. These were the forefathers and mothers of the Mechanicum.

As the Age of Strife bore on the teachings and philosophies of these sages grew and changed across Mars. Going from a society of preservers and memory keepers to a Religion of Machinery and Data. Revelation had actually helped the earliest members in their quest. He knew he must leave Terra in his quest to save mankind but someone must still guard the Dragon and preserve the knowledge of ages past.

In the early centuries of the Mechancium Seymon had been a brilliant Adept who discovered and improved upon countless cybernetic technologies. He was one of the first to preach the idea of becoming more like the Machine. This was done not out of the religious zealotry his descendants would possess, but survival.

The Artificial Ecosystem of Mars was long gone and its fragile atmosphere had been burnt by solar winds and polluted by War and the aftermath. So the people of Mars descended into there Habs and factories in order to survive. Yet which each passing generation the knowledge skills and parts needed to maintain these dwellings was sapped by the brutality of the rusting world.

Seymon realized they lacked the skill and equipment to keep their cities functioning, but they could keep their citizens alive. To survive the fall of Mars and the rusting of ruins they became one with the Machine. After decades of leadership and innovation as one of the leaders of the infant Martian Parliament, a stranger approached. A figure spoke only of in hushed tones by Martians as the benefactor. The Benefactor had asked him a simple question: "What would you do to ensure the survival of Mars and the human species?"

Seymons answer had been even more simple and utterly heartfelt "Anything"

The Benefactor had simply smiled at that and responded: "I have chosen you for a duty of incomparable importance. It will be beyond difficult and test your sanity and soul to limits beyond that of any human. There is no reward or ending to this duty, aside from death and knowledge beyond anything you could dream of. Failure means annihilation and extinction of all you know and holds dear."

Seymon had nearly laughed in his face at first. The Benefactor might occansily lead them to useful staches of Technology or warn them away from dangerous regions. He was not a Man to order him or produce such dire proclamations. His words of condemnation died on his lips as he looked into the Benefactors eyes. The brilliant Golden Orbs bore into his very soul. Seymon swore they had been normal brown eyes a moment before.

Knowledge and purpose burrowed into his being and truths too terrible and impossible were forced into his mind. The Dragon the fall of Man and what must be done scalded his psyche. Falling to his knees he wept and ripped at his flesh and cybernetics.

Looking up into the face of the man known by countless names across time and space he spoke as he took in deep shuddering breaths: "I accept. I accept this burden. I will guard the Dragon with my life and keep it sealed away. I will do this duty for as long as it takes. Ten days, ten years ten millennia, I will keep my people safe and pay for my sins."

He spoke the truth that cut the closest to him. The one that pulled back the curtain and revealed the origin and inspiration for his life's work. Cybernetics, the art of turning man into machine had grown and spread throughout the Red Planet with him spearheading it and shepherding it.

Seymon never knew nor questioned the origin of his passion. He never guessed his intellect and emotionally detached countenance had attracted the attention of a sleeping monster that hungered below his home. That the dark twisted dreams of the Dragon had lit a spark within him. A spark to convert flesh to metal. To mirror in some obscene way the consumption and conversion of countless species at the Dragon's claws.

Its dreams had touched all of Mars, blessing them with insight and imagination to plumb the reaches of technology and the universe. While cursing them to subconsciously reenact the dreams and memories of the Dragon. Seymons brilliance had allowed a Dead god Dreaming to influence the universe once again. His actions to allow Mars to survive would doom them to a fate of Mechanical half-life as fanatical obsession spread like a virus and became entrenched as dogma.

The Machines of Mars were safe from the Dragon, protected by cloned spirits. Its people were not. The festering dogma of the Mechainiucm would slowly cut its members from Emotion and humanity. The Warp no longer keeping the monster at bay. Leaving them exposed to its Dreams and ambitions. All of this, all of this horror was sparked by Adept Seymons desire to save his people.

After faking his death and disappearing into the Dragon's Tomb he met the Benefactor and learned his name and saw for himself the monster sealed below. Revelation and the Dragon both stood before him. Equally wonderful and terrible. Bathed in the Dragons glow his souls was bound to the seals, bindings, and fetters keeping it locked in a state of unlife.

Revelation told him the reason for this. To guide humanity further along the shining path he must leave Sol and brave the distant void. The Warp was frothing insanity reaching a crescendo of storm and stress as the Aeldari damned themselves. It would weaken or disrupt his connection to the Seal as he became more separated from it by time and space.

This could not be allowed. Yet reinforcing the seal was possible. A sufficiently strong-willed mortal who had been touched by the Dragon could be bound to it. Acting as a receiver for Revelations power and keeping the Dragon asleep and bound while protecting the actual location.

For Millennia Seymon had stood guard. His mind and body empowered with psychic energy. Each night as he slept he caught glimpses of the Dragons Dreams, pulled from its mind by his link to it. The nightmarish and wondrous things he saw were recorded as per Revelations wishes. To form an archive of such things and prepare his successor.

Revelation knew the pain and exhaustion the ages could bring and did not want to damn a good man to an eternity of solitude and service. A successor would eventually be found. He assured Seymon that.

Now the Adept knelt before the Emperor of Mankind. The sights and horrors he had seen forging an adamantium clad loyalty to Revelation. The Dragonslayer had saved humanity and the galaxy from a nightmarish fate through his actions. Before he could even ask Revelation answered the question boring into Seymons mind.

"Soon, I can feel a candidate arising in the future. It will not be long, another century or two."

Seymon let out a deep shuddering breath. A century or two, a century or two. Another century or two alone in this pit…. He could feel his mind starting to crack under the pressure.

Before the weight of millennia could come crashing down on him Revelation continued: "I am sorry, you should not have had to share this burden alone. Soon another will join you here. Not as guardian but as a friend and companion. Your successors will come in twos to prevent the suffering you have experienced."

Nodding slightly the still shaking Seymon got to his feet and asked: "So you are here to talk with it?"

Seymon did not know if he imagined it but a grimace seemed to pass across Revelations features. Remembering and observing him was always difficult. His presence was like an intense dream. You could remember the basic outline and the experience vividly but the details seemed to always be hazy and shifting.

Answering his question softly Revelation said "Yes, before I can continue I must speak to it. I intend to make it an offer."

Seymon was shocked: "An offer?"

"Yes, servitude and knowledge in exchange for having its shackles loosened. A war is coming that if humanity is to survive it every weapon in our arsenal must be used.": replied the Emperor.

Still aghast the Adept continued: "If it refuses it will be more conscious and vicious. If it accepts… I dread to think of what things would require *that* to win."

To Seymons surprise Revelation replied "Both are valuable outcomes. Even if it refuses I will anger it and its dreams will become more war-torn violent things. Birthing new innovations in warfare and weaponry to assist our survival in the coming conflict."

Biting his tongue Seymon knew the idea had merit. The Dragons influence had directly influenced some of the greatest technological wonders the species had ever created. That is why it was sealed away here on Mars, why the organization now known as the Mechancium existed. To allow humanity to unknowingly wield the dragon's power. To grant us an edge against the horrors of the universe.

Bowing curtly Seymon said "I put my faith in you Revelation. If anyone can save our people it is you."

Internally Revelation winced. He could say that very phrase himself. The impetus of this plan came from the God-Emperor. It had been its idea to offer the Ruinous Powers terms of surrender, now this. The memory locks were firmly in place and it worried him constantly about what the consequences of this plan could be.

His own visions of the future could also not be fully trusted. The Chaos Gods and the God Emperor's metalling had stirred time into an ever-shifting maelstrom of cause and effect. Revelation knew broad strokes of various outcomes and how to ensure them but his once near perfect sight of the future was muddied.

Seymon retrieved the great tome he recorded all he could of his custodianship and prisoner. This event must be recorded for posterity. He positioned himself in full view of the Dragon and watched Revelation, no... the Emperor of Mankind rise into the Air. News of Revelations crowning and arrival on Mars had even made it to him through the dingy caravans of Water Traders who visited him and traded supplies for scrap.

A Corona of psychic light and fire formed an aura around the Emperor. Like a living psychic star, he rose up and up towards the chamber's center. Seymon could only watch as the Dragon started to shake and stir in its sleep. Reacting even in its unliving state to the power of its nemesis.

The Emperor of Mankind reached maneuvered to face its head. The metallic serpentine skull shuddered and rippled at his approach. Protruding from it and glowing a brilliant golden radiance was the Emperor's Sword. It was stabbed through the Dragon's forehead and straight into the mass of glowing metal and wyrd energy that formed its brain. The Chains that bound the Dragon and stretched across the chamber all began here. Psychically forged to the blades pommel the chains encircled the Dragon and bound its mind and body in a corona of Psychic power and searing adamantium.

Grasping his sword's hilt The Dragonslayer began to commune with the Dragon. The Emperor's power and consciousness flowed through the blade and into the Dragon's mind. Psychic power became electrical signals and electrical signals became ones and zeroes. Soon his mind translated through multiple media entered the Dragons brain.

It was a digital realm, a false-reality created by the massive computational units that acted as the host for the Yngirs power. Yet despite all its potential power, it was stuck in a continuous loop of repair protection. The Dragons desperate attempts to keep the corrosive Warp away from its most precious and sensitive thought patterns and memories kept it in a state that could be argued was both sleep and Death.

The Dragons actual consciousness was compressed and sealed away under layers of protection, forcing it to sleep and dwell in a virtual subconscious. Which is where a part of the Emperor's own mind had journeyed. His brain had been translated into Warp-currents and then back again into electrical signals in an unmatchable feat of Fulmination.

Here he existed, before the titanic ancient intellect of the sleep Dragon. Mustering himself The Emperor prepared to speak the eldest and purest language of the universe. The tongue the Yngir knew and mastered from birth. For it was the only universal language of the Material Realm: Mathematics. Revelation spoke a simple phrase and used the knowledge he had fought and paid bitterly for. That knowledge was the Dragons true name.

*Mag'ladroth I have come to bargain.*

At once a world-ending storm of virtual energy and matter detonated across the realm of Ones and Zeroes. The Void Dragon stood before him. In this form of thought-being, it could be what it once was, unshackled by physical constraints or psychic fire the Dragon was as it had been and what it would be if the Emperor ever failed. The being rightfully known as Lord Oblivion stared down at the Emperor from cruel eyes that burned with the intensity and horror of an emerald tinged Supernova.

Answering the Emperor in equations of its own the Star God let loose a torrent of Data that would destroy the greatest of cogitator and lobotomize the cleverest savant. Each stream of numbers was terrible and unique for each held the exact same meaning.

*DIE*

The Emperor weathered the storm of the materium as easily as he had the storm of immaterium when he faced the Four. His answer to both typhoons of murderous desire was the same

*Are you done?*

It continued the onslaught till with a thought the Emperor tightened the chains that bound its physical form. It let out a mathematical roar of distress and fury as searing impossibility burnt away at its metal flesh. After a few moments of anguish, the Emperor loosened the chains again. The Dragon seethed with star-crushing fury but made no move. Taking that as a sign it would lessen the Emperor continued, drawing upon his own knowledge and the plans laid forth by the God Emperor.

*Serve humanity faithfully and dutifully and once my ambition is complete I will free you.*

For a second it seemed like the Dragon was confused, its massive processing ability had, of course, considered such a possibility but dismissed it as nearly improbable.

*There are two conditions to my offer. First, you must leave the Galaxy and never return, the rest of the cosmos will be yours as long as you leave this galaxy to humanity. Second to ensure your compliance a contingency will be installed in you. Ensuring you follow my orders and the conditions*

The Dragon did not even stop to consider, it did not even contemplate the possibilities. It never considered the possibility of an unending feast within the galactic void. It never considered what fate might befall it if it rejected the Emperor's offer. For it was the Dragon, the inspiration for a million myths across the galaxy, and those myths spoke true. The Dragon was a being of avarice and hubris. It would not except servitude even if it meant escaping bondage.

It gave a vicious roar of hunger and wrath as a response. In a hurricane of mathematical theorem and virtual power it spoke:

*YOU DARE! YOU DARE! I DEVOURED EMPIRES. DRANK STARS. RULED THE COSMOS! I AM MAG'LADROTH! YOU ARE PREY! KNEEL BEFORE ME!*

Calmly with no malice the Emperor responded:

*I dare because of exactly that, you have committed crimes against life and our universe worse than you could ever know. I offer atonement which is more than you deserve.*

The Dragon continued its tirade of fury and malice even as the Emperor left the digital realm.

Seymon had watched the exchange of energy between the Dragon and Emperor with a mix of awe and horror. It was like watching twin stars dueling. On some level, he knew without the Emperor's protection his mind and body would have crumbled under the psychic and material waves of force being emitted. Every moment had been recorded painstakingly within the Book of the Dragon.

So when the end came he knew not to expect. Some treacherous worm in the back of his head whispered that the sight of Revelations broken burnt body falling to the cavern floor followed by utter annihilation was soon to come. That did not occur, instead of with a burst of solar-tinged light Revelation ended the link and floated before the monster.

It thrashed and roared even as its mind was locked away within its digital subconscious. Seymon heart nearly stopped when he saw the expression on the Emperors face. This was not the quickly fading half-remembered thing he was used to. This was the Master of Mankind's face forged into a mask of cold fury. The always stoic and polite physical god shone with an anger that could quench a sun and annihilate worlds.

At that moment Adept Seymon knew true fear. A being billions had worshipped and called a god across mankind's history floated above him. He knew at that moment why so many cultures had feared the almighty while claiming such beings were loving caring beings. Revelation was mankind's savior and champion, but utter Doom and annihilation to his foes. The Master of Mankind would burn the galaxy if it meant humanity would survive in its ashes.

Like a Sun setting the awe-inspiring and nightmare-inducing halo of power dimmed. The Emperor slowly floated to the ground and as he did raise his hand and closed it into a fist. As it did the Dragons chains tightened, it thrashed as the psychic fire burned it. Speaking more to himself than the Dragon or Seymon he said

"You have destroyed the galaxy twice in your greed. I will not allow you to do it thrice."

With that, the Emperor of Mankind said a few parting words to Seymon and left the Dragons tomb. He traversed the catacombs and then eventually the Martian desert with ease as he made it back towards Thrasis. The brilliant glow of Sol just peeking over the horizon as his journey reached its end.

As he finally snuck aboard the Bucephalus and deactivated the Cognatu Ferrums decoy the future became easier to read. He saw how the Dragons fury would help bring new weapons of war into the fray. Push Mars to reach greater heights in order to arm humanity for the Wars to come. Another step was taken down the shining path.

What he did not see was the complete tapestry of fate. Revelation could see the cause and effect related to his communion, but not the wretched details in between. His actions today would awaken nightmares and cost him dearly. Yet It would save humanity the galaxy and quite possibly the universe.

The price required would make the humane Revelation hesitate even if it cost him everything. The God Emperor of Mankind would not. The Corpse-Emperor would pay any price and hide it from his counterpart. It mattered not to the Thing on the Throne if it cost a Friend, a child or a kingdom. If it ensured humanities Ascension and survival no price was too small.


	19. Chapter 16: The Court of Destiny

Chapter Sixteen: The Court of Destiny

Location: The Bucephalus, currently in Martian Orbit.  
Date: 792.M31 (Approximately six Terran Months since the signing of the Treaty of Olympus)

The Emperor of Mankind stood aboard the Bucephalus observatories and gazed out into the void. The Red Planet in all its glory filled the viewport and his superhuman eyes studied the worlds intricate surface. Continent-sized industrial centers and Forges the size of countries marked the rust-colored world. In many ways, the planet was much like its inhabitants. A survivor of countless cataclysms both Man-made and natural, that had been augmented and changed by machinery and metal to better survive the Galaxy.

Each of Nation-States known to Mars as Forges had sworn loyalty to him. Now the full manufacturing capacity of the Crimson Jewel of Sol was put to work in the Imperiums War Machine. Armor, Weapons, Vehicles, Infrastructure, and Voidships were being churned out in astonishing numbers.

A few days ago he had presided over the Keel Laying of the first Imperial Battleship to be built at the Ring of Iron. The utterly massive super-structure was mass producing Warships and support craft as fast as it could. Entire Asteroids had been dragged from the Nearby belt and fed to the ravenous Forges of Mars.

Martian STC's, Terran relics and some of the Emperors own knowledge combined to create new tools of conquest. Knowledge of the distant past and the Grim Dark Future had been gifted to Mars as part of the Treaty. While restricted by a lack of certain exotic resources and a few other factors this Great Crusade would start better equipped.

The current standard issue Power Armor was known as Mk II Legio Armor. It actually had morin common with the God-Emperor's timelines mk III and mk IV in appearance and capabilities. Tactical Dreadnought Armor was also slated for production but awaiting a larger supply of Adamantium to be mass produced. Every scrap of the nearly indestructible metal was being used in the growing Imperial Fleet.

Yet despite there unparalleled contribution to the War effort and powerful role in the Imperium elements of the Tech-Clergy were still distrustful. In the God-Emperors time this distrust had become disloyalty. This could not be tolerated and the Emperor intended to end this issue before it ever became a threat to Imperial stability.

This was not the only such situation where the possible future actions of people or organizations were a concern to the Emperor and his inner circle. He had at first ordered Malcador and his pet Assassins (which he was technically not supposed to know about) to hunt down and eliminate the most flagrant and destructive of these individuals decades before the events they would be involved with ever occurred. These pawns both willing and unwitting of Chaos had been obscured from his foresight by the Four. Now such protection was useless and they were subject to the Emperor's machinations.

While the list had shrunk with each passing week as the Masters of each Assassin Clade and their disciples conducted their grim work. Malcador and the Emperor were still stuck with a sizable chunk of individuals whose fate was not set in stone. In the Grimdarkness they had been enemies, yet if handled correctly they could help humanity walk the Shining Path. Even individuals who had not been hidden from his view could possibly be redeemed if they were careful.

To this effort Malcador, Uriah and the Emperor had assembled a group of Philosophers, Precognitive Psykers, and Lawbringers to access these men and women of uncertain fate. Their duty was to guide those of uncertain fate into the light and eliminate them if that was not possible.

Knowing the dangers of such a practice running wild a large part of this organization's duties was to ensure no other options were available and eliminations were done in an ethical way. Even if a person was headed down a path of darkness they had not committed the crimes they were being executed for yet. This new and highly secretive branch of Imperial Justice was known to the scant few privy to its existence as the Court of Destiny. A place where future actions and possible fates were judged.

Its branches included a conclave of Telepaths and Precogs who researched and mapped out the minds and futures of the Judged. The Philosophers and Lawbringers debated the ethics and necessity of their actions. A group of Adepts under Malcador scattered throughout Imperial government and military were used to push the Judged along a better path. Nearly all of the newly made Chaplaincy core of the Astartes had connections to this group. Finally, those who could not be redeemed and were utterly Damned were referred to the Assassinorum.

Today the Emperor intended to do something atypical, he was going to directly intervene and handle one of these Judged himself. This would be the fourth time he had personally tried to push a Judged onto the path of becoming what the Court called a Fatebreaker. Someone who freed themselves from the twisted path the Four had laid out for them.

If he succeeded any Martian insurrection would be crippled before it could gestate. If not… well, others messier options were more available. So here in the final weeks of his stay at Mars, he had sent a message down to the Fabricator General. Asking for a particularly talented rising star of the priesthood to be sent aboard the Bucephalus.

The meeting was due to take place within a few hours and he could already see one of the distinct shuttle craft of the Custodes peeling away from the intense orbital traffic and heading to dock with its mothership. Aboard it was the Judged who had been subject to the intense scrutiny of his bodyguards before he was allowed anywhere near the Emperor.

He could sense the Three Custodes aboard the craft and its passenger. The Emperor was slightly amused how hard the Judged was attempting to quash the overwhelming dread and fear filling what was left of his organic brain. Transhuman Dread as the Legions were starting to call it had long been a side effect of humanities various attempts to enhance its warriors.

The Psychic aspects of the Astartes and Custodes creation further enhanced the effect to new levels. At first, the Emperor had attempted to eliminate the effect, he found the idea of humanities Protectors causing mind breaking fear in their charges and being examples of what ancient Terran cyberneticists called the uncanny valley distasteful. Eventually, he realized this flaw could become a feature with a little tweaking.

Astartes and Custodes by nature are psychic beings, each altered not just on a biological but spiritual level by their augments. Granting a level of the supernatural abilities possessed by their Gene-Sire. this was the reason the experiments in Pariah gene Astartes conducted by his alternate self-had failed so disastrously.

It had taken a bit psychic engineering but the Imperiums transhuman champions inspired more shock and awe than dread and horror in those who viewed them. This effect was derived from the psychic charisma of both him and his sons. It was not enough to fully eliminate the dread but alter it enough to be useful. As an added bonus this effect had been tied into the connection they shared with him. If that connection was broken by Xeno or Warp taint the sheer wrongness of the augmented being would be unfiltered and provide a measure of defense and easy identification of these fallen.

The Emperor had seen quite viscerally how far an Astartes could fall. Even now he could see the Favored Son of a Favored Son putting the galaxy to the torch while wielding two the very few weapons in existence capable of tasting his blood. That ancient monster who would break Arcadia and despoil so much of the already rotting Imperium would be born in a few years, he also would need to be judged by the Court.

The Shuttle docked within the cavernous hangers of his flagship and he could feel the flickering ember that was his terrified guest's soul move slowly towards him through the massive vessel.

The Emperor was clothed in a uniform that mixed elements of military dress garb and Terran Nobility fashion. His form and clothing could be changed with a thought, either through manipulation of matter or minds. He often found it interesting how his dress added a form of filter to his power and radiance. In the plain robes of ancient Terran tribes, he was a prophet, a messiah. In the armor and uniforms of battle a conquering God-King. Today he was to an extent both. The Omnissiah of Mars and the Emperor of Terra.

The Observatory was one of the odder locations upon the Bucephalus. It served no practical purpose and a defense turret would be a better use of the space upon the ships hull. Even so, the Emperor wanted his flagship to be more than a vessel of War. It would be a beacon of unity and progress. A center of diplomacy and civilization as much a tool of conquest.

He could see it now, in a few decades dignitaries from dozens of newly unified worlds would dine and forge bonds of brotherhood under the translucent dome that allowed starlight to illuminate the chamber. The Emperor knew much blood would need to be shed to unify the human species, he was under no such illusions that many worlds would rather die than submit. That being true there would still be even more meetings that would reunite humanity, not as rival powers but long-lost siblings.

As his musing shifted to plans for the future the Cognatu Ferrum chirped psychically that his guest was about to arrive. Thanking the loyal machine he pulsed permission for the Custodes to bring the tech-priest into the chamber. Great synth-wood doors creaked open and the illumination of the vessels passages spilled into the Observatory. Filling the room with more light than the meager amount provided by the stars and reflected from the Martian Surface.

The heavy footfalls of the Custodes and the slight mechanical whir of their charge entered the Chamber. The Emperor had to hide a smirk at that, the Custodes even armored head to toe in advanced Power Armor could be completely silent yet choose not to be in situations like this. It was an intimidation tactic of course. A useful tool for a bodyguard yet wasted on the guest. His fear poured off his soul like a putrid storm and the Emperor doubted little the Custodes could do would increase it.

The Emperor of Mankind turned away from the view of Mars once they were a few meters away. Surrounded by a trinity of Custodes was a disheveled and terrified Cyborg. He admired how hard the man tried to hide his fear but any sane being in his predicament would be as fearful as he was.

The man before him was young by Martian standards and extraordinarily talented. He was only a few decades old and only maybe another away from becoming a Magos. The Tech-Priest was part of a not insignificant minority that viewed the Treaty of Mars as a conquest through words. An act they saw as a violation of the Mechanicum which stole their autonomy and not a treaty at all but a contract between master and servant forced to be signed at weapon-point. The Tech-Priest and his minority saw the Emperor as a heretical imposter. Some monster born of Archeotech or Xeno science, not the Omnissiah.

In another light, the Emperor would find all of this darkly amusing. A group of fanatics who would rather have the freedom and tools to doom themselves to nightmarish ends then work for humanities survival. They were technically correct though, he had subjected Mars and was not the "true" Omnissiah. Such a being did not exist and he had the best claim for the title. People always seemed to favor the immediate and the foolish.

The Emperor watched the frightened Tech-Priest looked into his augmented eyes. For a moment the Emperor let his aura leak out. His eyes turned from deep brown to golden flaming orbs. A Halo of fire and light erupted around him and the Tech-Priest collapsed to his knees in a mix of shock and reverence. Speaking calmly he addressed the Martian.

"Kelbor-Hal; I have wanted to speak to you for some time."

Kelbor-Hal seemed to freeze for a moment as if he was not processing what was being said. Then the shock wore off and the blade-sharp intellect of the once-future Fabricator General sprung into action. A keen political mind was as necessary if not more so than technical aptitude to rise through the Ranks of the Mechanicum. That keen political instinct kicked in almost instantly as Hal collected himself.

The crackle of synthetic voice filled the Observatory as Kelbor-Hal addressed the Emperor: "It is beyond an honor to be in your presence oh Omnissiah. Whatever you require of me I shall do. I am your servant and willing cog in whatever you wish."

Kelbor-Hal rose from the near collapsed state to a respectful kneel. His mechadendrites were folded in a posture indicating submission and respect among the Mechanicum. Hal knew how to hide his emotions and intent well and play the willing supplicant. It seemed another display of power was in order.

Turning away from the kneeling Tech-Priest the Emperor gazed out at Mars, as he did his mind touched the Martian Population. With the ease, a mortal would have reading a news-periodical the Emperor of Mankind read every single mind on the Red Planet. None of the Martian noticed. The only evidence of this act was faint fluctuations in the Warp only the most sensitive would feel.

Turning back to Kelbor-Hal he spoke as his eyes glowed with Psychic-Fire. "There are currently 13,141,592,653 living humans on Mars. that does not count Servitors and other lobotomized or partial-sentients of human origin. 4,981,196,225 of those humans to varying degrees believe I am a false-omnissiah and that the Treaty is conquest just by another name."

The Tech-Priest seemed confused until the horrific realization struck as the Emperor continued. "I know this because I am reading the minds of all Thirteen billion of them. This is an easy task for me. In fact, reading the minds of every human within the Solar System is well within my capabilities. I tell you this so you know lying or trying to obscure your true feelings is a pointless endeavor."

It was like a puppet's strings had been cut. Kelbor-Hal's body went limp as the truth and horrific power of the being before him crashed into his mind like an ocean swell. Slowly clambering to his feet the Tech-Priest marshaled every ounce of willpower and blurted out a simple message in binary. "I do not know what Heretekal experiments spawned you. I know I am but a mote of dust compared to the forces you wield, but I will do everything I can to protect Mars from you."

Kelbor-Hal expected to be atomized on the spot, turned to nothing but ash by the false-god before him. In fact, that was the fate he hoped for. Better death than being enslaved to help craft weapons and tools of butchery for this Gene-wrought monster. Or worse yet being used as material by whatever Fleshcrafter made the Golden Giants that flanked him. He never expected the Psi-Abomination that had enslaved his people to congratulate him, let alone in perfect binary.

"Kelbor-Hal you have exceeded my expectations. Instead of pleading or attempting to escape your seeming fate. You were prepared to die for your ideals, even if they were misguided. Throughout my long life, I've learned a man willing to die for the wrong cause is worth a hundred ones feigning loyalty to a noble one. For a committed man can be shifted to serve a good cause as rigorously if not more so than he did the first. "

It was impossible for an unaugmented human throat to produce the Binaric Cant spoken by Martians. Yet through some act of superhuman ability, the Emperor had spoken the Machine tongue. The entire world view and knowledge of what was possible of Kelbor-Hal was being pulled apart.

Reverting back to Gothic the Emperor continued: "I know you fear the worst from me, and my existence seems impossible. Little I can say will convince you of the truth of my being and intentions so I must ask you a simple question. What would you do to ensure the survival of Mars and the human species?"

Kelbor answered almost immediately "Anything, I would do anything to protect Mars and its people."

A slight smile crossed the Emperor perfect features as he replied: "That will be put to the test. The Binary language is based on the most basic of concepts. One or Zero, yes or no. It's very fitting that Mars fate is based upon a similar question. Kelbor-Hal you are the one who will choose. Yes or no, will Mars survive and thrive or be ripped apart by strife and Chaos."

"I have a request of you if you answer yes Mars fate as part of the Imperium will be sealed and humanities future will be secure. If you answer no then you will set forth a chain of events that end with Mars being ripped apart in civil war and the Mechanicum being destroyed."

The Tech-Priests fists and Mechadendrites clenched with anger as he responded. "Is that a threat? If I do not serve you will destroy all I hold dear?"

Sadness filled the Emperor eyes: "No I will not destroy the Mechanicum, you will. The blood of innocence will be on your hands and Mars will burn under your command."

Before Kelbor-Hal could reply visions of possible futures and memories of the God-Emperor poured into his augmented brain. Heresy, horror, and betrayal filled the young Cyborgs mind.

Twitching slightly the increasingly disturbed Tech-Priest spoke: "Why do you show me such things? Your trickery and lies will not work. You are not the Omnissiah!"

"You are correct and incorrect. I am one of the two beings closest to the entity you call the Machine God. Except I am not its incarnate nor spawn. I am its master and jailer. Would you like to meet the Deus Mechanicus? If you accept my offer you will." responded the Emperor.

Sputtering softly Kelbor-Hal replied: "What madness is this? The Machine God is not something that could be contained or dominated...

"The mythological being you worship could never be sealed or controlled, true. The being that inspired the myths? That is a very different story." A wry smile crossed the Emperor face at that.

Sighing softly to himself the Emperor continued: "I know I will not be able to convince you to do this of your own free will and could only force you or compel you to. That is not my wish, I want you to do this of your own volition. So I will offer you another option. Journey to the place of my request and meet with the other being who could be called Omnissiah. Gain knowledge and evidence I can not provide you without upsetting future events. After meeting with him you can accept my request or deny it and take the knowledge you have gained and spread it throughout Mars."

Warrely the Tech-Priest asked: "Tell me this request and I might consider this."

The pull of lost and forbidden knowledge was great on any member of the Mechanicum but practically and addictive hunger for its members like Kelbor-Hal. The Emperor, of course, knew this and while he needed this choice to be Hal's he could, of course, influence it in his favor.

"To study under the Guardian of the Noctis Labyrinth and once his successor is chosen, guide her until she is ready to fulfill his responsibilities. After that, you can use whatever knowledge you have gained however you wish."

"The Noctis Labyrinth? Nothing sane or human lives there. What could possibly be of any importance be located in that pit of decay and contamination?" : Asked Hal.

"If you journey their you will find out for yourself." was all the Emperor said in reply. At that Kelbor-Hal was escorted from the Observatory and the Bucephalus.

The once possible Fabricator General did not know what decision he would make but the Emperor did. The tides of destiny shifted and he could watch the future. How after a few weeks of internal anguish Kelbor-hal would journey to the Noctis Labyrinth and meet his god. Seymon would glad to have the company and this would set the Mechanicum down a very different path.

Without the Primarchs rebelling and the intellectual and political lynchpin of Kelbor-Hal Mars would never rebel. Or at least any attempts would be far too crippled to have any major effects. In turn after a few centuries, Hal would emerge as a wise Sage and start to preach a new creed to the Martians. One that championed human ascendancy instead of machine worship, and careful development of technology as opposed to relic hunting pseudo-luddism.

Another threat eliminated by turning it into an asset. He would have to inform the Court of Destiny when he sent his weekly communique to Terra. Thoughts of his and humanities homeworld turned to his children. Despite the strange perception of time gained by immortality, he knew he had been away too long and he missed his sons. Thankfully within another month or so he would return to Terra and the Primarchs.

Location: The Outer Palace  
Date: 793.M31

The Emperor's return was met with grand fanfare. Festivals were held across humanities homeworld. Pict-casts of the Emperor's speech announcing the Treaty of Mars were shown in every settlement. From sprawling hives to barren junk-towns the Master of Mankind words brought joy to the people. Unification was coming and soon humanity would never need to fear the darkness.

Thousands of Tech-Priests and Mechanicum officials had arrived on board both the Bucephalus and the veritable fleet of Martian ships that had jocked for the honor of being part of the Omnissiah honor-guard and to work on his most holy tasks. Soon stalled projects and sluggishly developing infrastructure had the minds and augments of Martian Priests to guide the throngs of Terran labor.

Terrawatt Clan elders and Martian Magos's exchanged knowledge and were overjoyed to meet their like-minded kin from across the void. Terran nobles met with the strange Mechanical-Men from Mars and political pacts and trade agreements were drawn up as the two cultures realized the benefits they could provide each other.

The Emperor returned to his children and both father and sons rejoiced at their reunification. In the few years since his leaving the Primarchs had grown into strong youths. Not quite men yet but more than boys. Gifts crafted with supernatural intellect and acquired from Mars were exchanged. Stories of youth and adventure within the ever-growing palace along with brotherly boasting met the Emperors. He had forgotten the simple joys of being a parent in the long millennia since he last fathered children.

The Legions were also growing in number. Ten thousand years of the souls of Loyal Apothecaries and Magos Genetor's experience with creating new Astartes was put to good use. The Process had been refined and mastered to such a degree that with a compatible applicant rejection was virtually unheard of. Current estimates showed the Legions with larger candidate pools would reach nearly a hundred thousand Marines by the time they left Sol.

Sadly that estimate would not come true due to future events. The fallout from the brewing troubles on Luna would injure the infant Legions, but it would be a small price to pay for the events it would set in motion.

The Legions were already seeing the effects of the corruption among the new recruits. Resistance to Hypno-indoctrination, morale and discipline issues, seemingly random catastrophic Gene-Seed Rejections. This puzzling list of symptoms was the effect of the madness the Selenar cults had tainted the Gene-Seed with. This was only the beginning when the Cult struck countless horrors would be unleashed. Each Legion would be torn apart by chaotic corruption and insanity.

Instead of the fatal blow to the Imperium like the Ruinous Powers wished this calamity would be a crucible. The Legions, the Primarchs, and the Imperium would come away from it stronger and prepared to face the horrors of the galaxy. Of course, the Emperor left nothing to chance and countless contingencies were being prepared to ensure the optimal outcome.

The first few months of the Emperor's return were spent working on Terran-Martian integration along with some much overdue time with the Primarchs. It pleased him to see how much they were growing into fine young men. Showing the best of what they could be and thankfully little of the vainglorious Demi-Gods the God-Emperor dealt with.

So as time passed the Emperor acquired more time to work on his contingencies and other projects. By his own personal design the Emperor was rather uninvolved with Imperial governance, and only took an active role when it was absolutely required. While his role as Emperor of Mankind was far more involved and public than most of his masks from human history it while all the others were temporary. Humanity could not be allowed to become reliant on him.

The God-Emperor's memories had shown how effective and enduring the Imperial government was. Even when utterly crippled by dogma, paranoid ignorance and a never-ending tide of devastation it had survived and more or less thrived for ten thousand years. The Barbaric grimdark atrocity his ambitions had once been doomed to become was the longest lasting continuous civilization in human history. If guided correctly by his hand the Imperium and what came after it would survive and thrive for far far longer.

Some of the contingencies to ensure the Imperiums survival along with so many other secrets were located within a series of vaults deep within the Imperial Palace. These vaults and chambers were some of the most well protected and hidden sections of the sprawling megastructure. This Dungeon was home to the Emperor's laboratories. A complex filled with artifacts, equipment, and personnel selected to assist him in his endeavors.

The curious design of the Palace strangely allowed straight accesses from the Dungeons entrance to the Lion Gate. This, of course, was an effect of the Emperor's planning. Within a few centuries, the entirety of the labs content would be moved elsewhere and the space would become the nexus and heart of the Imperial Webway. For now, it was a subterranean domain of science and sorcery diligently working in secret for the Master of Mankind.

Today was one of the days he had an opportunity to journey to the Imperial Dungeon. A testy round of negotiations involving the Navis Nobility and Mechanicum had finished thanks in part to his arbitration. The Primarchs were away from the Palace leading Astartes sorties against the various filth and monsters that dwelled below the surface of Terra. Even as youths their mastery of strategy and command was virtually unparalleled. It was good practice for both them and the Legions while helping purify humanities home. So with the wheels of governance and parenting running smoothly, the Emperor could work on his projects.

This particular day the Emperor journeyed to the Gene-smithing and the flesh-crafting segment of the Labs. Here the lore and equipment used to create the Legions and Primarchs were stored along with countless other wonders. Here infants were reforged into his Custodes, secrets of the Golden Age were relearned and weapons to drive back the dark were created.

The Laboratory was kept separate and secret from the rest of the Imperium. It was a self-sufficient pocket of research and manufacturing complexes designed to ensure that no matter what the treaties with Mars or Lex Imperialis said the Emperor possessed his own private forge an army greater than any other. Secrets never to be divulged and resources never to be shared were put to good use providing the Emperor an edge over any threat to his ambition. Be they external monsters or internal strife.

Passing through the great blast doors into the Genelab the Emperor and his guards were greeted with bows and other marks of supplication by the researchers and gene-crafters. With a motion, he commanded the Laboratories staff to continue working. His intense Psychic Halo dimmed to tolerable levels. Enough to inspire awe and increase productivity through adoration but not enough turn the find minds witnessing it into blubbering sycophants. Learning to control his aura and its effects on mortals had been one of the first things the Shaman spirits had taught him.

The Gene-Labs were staffed by entire Selenar Clans and Terrawatt tech-lineages that had been transplanted to the secret realm of the Laboratories. Each had been selected and groomed for not only intellectual and technical skill but fanatical loyalty. The fools spreading worming corruption beneath Luna's surface were chaff, useful for mass producing the Legions but ultimately expendable. Yet another pawn to be sacrificed in his never-ending gambit.

Large sections of the Gene-labs were given over to the fantastically complicated apparatus needed to create Custodes. Each Astartes was a sword pointed at mankind's foes and created from twenty specialized molds. The Custodes instead were master-worked spears meant to guard the species future. Not pressed out of a mold but artfully created. Here in these labs the blueprints and designs penned by the Emperor were used to craft his personal Legion. In another time and era, those blueprints would have been reused for ten thousand years by the grieving Custodes to ensure replenish themselves. After all, any sufficiently talented smith could follow a genius's blueprints.

Other parts contained massive sequencer engines. Primitive but powerful devices designed to allow the mass organization of genetic codes. One of the more subtle and hidden parts of the Emperors Plan involved guiding humanities evolutionary path. With every unified world, another set of genes would be collected covertly and added to his Archives. These engines would compile and organize the data allowing a more accurate map of the countless variants of humanity. With time this information would be used to help cultivate the next generation of the species, and guide them down the shining path.

Yet neither of these wonders nor the countless others contained within the Genelab were the focus of the Emperors work today. That honor fell to the Labyrinth Vaults, an isolated segment of the Labs that contained the remains of the Primarch Project. They had not been locked away after the creation of the Legions like in the God Emperor's time for a desperate Raven to find. Instead, they continued the Great Work.

Entering the Lab he glanced down at the ornate tiles and whispered to himself the message transcribed in an ancient cipher upon the entrance halls floor.

"In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,

Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws

The only shadow that the Desert knows:—

"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,

"The King of Kings; this mighty City shows

"The wonders of my hand."— The City's gone,—

Naught but the Leg remaining to disclose

The site of this forgotten Babylon.

We wonder,—and some Hunter may express

Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness

Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,

He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess

What powerful but unrecorded race

Once dwelt in that annihilated place."

It was an ancient poem, one of two penned by friends of the Emperor. Both testaments to the fall of Empires and hubris. The Emperor had developed the habit of leaving such historical references and oddities in his trail millennia ago. It helped ground the ancient immortal and provide a trail of breadcrumbs for future historians to follow. A more wistful part of Revelation hoped in a future where humanity was prepared to survive the cosmos his saga could be told. Secrets and illusions had colored his existence out of sheer necessity and hopefully, one-day humanity would be ready to learn the epic truth of him and the species.

On another level, the nature of the poem was an attempt to apologize and recognize the Imperium for what it was. Despite its necessity, the Imperium of Man would be an authoritarian imperialistic feudal genocidal state. That truth never escaped the Emperor. If an evil must be committed to preserving humanity he would commit it. Any sin he would shoulder to protect his people from the darkness that sought their extinction. Hopefully, future generations would acknowledge it as the grim last chance of the species and forgive him and all those he had ordered to commit terrible crimes for the sake of survival.

Entering the Labyrinth Vaults proper the Emperor was greeted with the smell of growth-chemicals and the steady hum of maturation-vats. Here in the great chamber where the remnants of the Primarch Project had been repurposed was the single largest repository of Gene-seed that would ever exist.

Filling the chamber were hundreds of dozen meter tall growth racks. Each structure containing thousands upon thousands of progenoids glands. Row after row of plasti-glass storage vials held the rapidly maturing gene-seed. This collection contained enough progenoids to field tens of millions of Astartes. The Primarchs from infancy had been capable of producing an immense amount of Gene-seed and only a fraction of that had been sent to Luna for the creation of the Legions.

The only true limit to a Legions size when its Primarch was available to produce gene-seed was the number of applicants and military infrastructure. Thanks to the knowledge taken from the future applicants were plentiful and Mars provided all the Legions could need. Soon millions of Astartes would march under the Aquila. Bringing death to humanities enemies and safety to its scattered worlds.

The moment he entered the chamber his Psychic aura cascaded through it, alerting the staff of their master's presence. Instead of Selenar or other similar technicians, this laboratory was staffed by Astartes. The Legionaries who in a decade would form the beginning of the Apothecary corps had been handpicked to assist the creation of the Legions. Each had been selected from the intellectual elite of their legions recruitment districts. Two hundred of the finest young minds of Terra ready to serve and learn from the Emperor the secrets of the Astartes.

The Apothecaries who were on shift assembled and knelt before him. They were not much older than his own children. Recruited as teenagers instead of the youths common to the legions, they had been old enough to prove themselves worthy of this honor.

At his command, they rose. Each despite their repeated exposure and strong spirits were enthralled utterly by the Emperor's power. He was the Master of Mankind by his will alone and his gene-forged descendants knew that in their souls and embraced it. All except one, he resisted with every ounce of his being. Not out of disloyalty or spite. No, this Apothecary resisted because he was the most fanatically and devout of them all.

He was younger than his brethren, personally selected by the Emperor while touring the Ingolstadt Hive of the Jermanic Federation of Europa. His family had been a wealthy aristocratic clan of intellectuals and loyal subjects of the Imperium. Having the youngest son of the current Heir be chosen to become one of the Emperors Angels was the highest honor.

From there the child had survived the trials of augmentation intact. Iskandar's geneseed had proved highly compatible and he took to his training perfectly. Along with the 199 other Apothecaries he had studied under the elite of the Emperors genetics laboratories and even witnessed the Emperor himself at work. After that display only he had the gall to ask the Master of Mankind questions.

The Apothecary knew he would be penalized for his transgression by his superiors but desired to know the answer outweighed his distastes for punishment. The Emperor answered his question and then took him aside and answered every question the young astartes could ask. The knowledge shared had rattled the young warrior to the core while lighting a blaze of loyalty and desire to fulfill the Emperor's ambitions in his mind.

These events and most of the Apothecaries life had been in fact carefully orchestrated by the Court of Destiny and the Emperor himself. It had been both an experiment and test. An experiment to see if the terrible truths of the cosmos could be used in such a way to inspire loyalty and resolve. The Apothecary had been a resounding success he desired humanities salvation and attempted to resist the Emperor's power, as a way of trying to become more like the Master of Mankind's vision of humanity.

The test was to see if this once curious youth from Ingolstadt could break the fate the Prince of Pleasure had decreed for him. So far Apothecary Fabius of the III Legion had gone above and beyond the call of duty and was proving to possess the intellect and skills of his alternate self. While maintaining empathy and sanity keenly lacking in the manslayer.

Fabius had risen through the ranks of the Apothecary Corp to the title of Apothecarium Primus of the III Legion and Alumnus Augustus. He had studied under the Emperor and become a master of the arts of gene-forging and Astartes creation. The loyalty and skills he had shown earned him the place as Project Leader on the work the Emperor had arrived at the Lab to oversee.

After the initial greetings and updates on various project progress, the Emperor's Custodes and Fabius adjourned to a side chamber. Their information was exchanged and timetables were updated. They were unlike many aspects of the Crusade ahead of schedule. Batch after batch of the pure Gene-Seed was being produced. This was not the mutation-prone half finished augments of the God-Emperors warriors, this breed of Astartes was more akin to Cawl and the Avenging Sons enhanced warriors.

Possessing a suit of Twenty Four Augments instead of the original nineteen these warriors were stronger, faster, and more adaptable than thought possible. Knowledge taken from the Dead of the Grimdark future including destroyed replicates of Belisarius Cawl had allowed this perfection of the Astartes Project. While physically and mentally perfect these warriors still possessed chinks in their armor. Chinks that must be addressed, that duty partially fell to Fabius.

As they finished their discussion Fabius breached the topic that required the Emperor's presence: "My Liege your presence informs you already know this, but our supplies of the substance are reaching intolerable lows. It pains me to say this but our current estimates indicate at least three more donations are required before the required Gene-Seed can be produced."

At the mention of the "substance", the Custodes grip on their spears noticeably tightened. Its use and extraction went against every fiber of the Custodes being. It was the closest to torture a member of that order could experience. Even if it was authorized by the Emperor it pained his bodyguards immensely.

The Substance was one of the rarest and most powerful artifacts in the Imperium let alone the galaxy. Its biological and psychic properties were beyond counting. The term priceless did not come close to describing the importance and rarity of it. Its nature and source were obscured with various clinical terms for utmost secrecy was required. If an enemy acquired even an infinitesimal sample of it hell would be unleashed.

Nodding solemnly the Emperor spoke in his hypnotic mixture of spoken and psychic communication: "Understandable, we shall extract another donation today. I do not know the next opportunity I will be able to return to the Laboratory so we will do twice the typical amount. That should last until I am available again once we near Solar reunification"

Any lesser being feeling what the Custodes were would have begged the Emperor not to, he must reconsider. These were not lesser beings and would not fall prey to such weakness. Even in the face of the very thing they were created to prevent. The Emperor's blood being spilled.

For that was what the Substance was, the Emperor's lifeblood itself. It would be used by Fabius and his colleagues to help ensure humanity's future and that was a cause the Master of Mankind would always give too.

Following Fabius to the donating chamber, the Emperor of Mankind waited while Fabius prepped the equipment, to harvest let alone preserve such a substance was beyond the capabilities of simple needles and tubing. The hum of the machinery was matched with faint golden sparks occasionally erupting from the Emperor. Subtle but powerful biomancy was underway. Bone-Marrow was supercharged and blood composition was altered to better suit the Projects needs.

At last the great Sanguine machine came to life. Its receptor extended and opened. Its hollow tubular shape was perfectly sized for the Emperor's forearm. With a thought, the sleeve of his left arm faded out of being and he placed his perfectly muscled forearm into the device. With the hiss of machinery, a specially designed and sanctified needle entered the Master of Mankind's vein.

Enough blood to exsanguinate any mortal man was steadily drained from him. Psychically supercharged biology racing against pumps inscribed with ruins of warding and power. After an hour or so gallons of blood had been extracted and the machine came to a stop. More blood than was physically possible to fit in the Emperor's body now filled unique holding vessels. The wound closed the minute the needle left the Emperor's flesh. Utterly unperturbed by the donation he had just given the Master of Mankind left the Chamber with Fabius and the Custodes trailing him.

As he looked over the thousands and thousands of Progenoids that would each be exposed to far less than a drop of his own blood a single somber thought filled the Emperors ancient and powerful mind. "I hope it will be enough."

Final words were exchanged with Fabius and the Emperor prepared to work on the other projects that demanded his attention. So much needed to be done and time was scarce. If he failed quadrillions would be damned. There was so much yet to be done, so many threats and dangers to face. He would face them all and do whatever it took. The Legions would secure the galaxy for humanity and he then his people would be safe to walk the Shining path of Ascension.

Location: Astartes Candidate Reception Zone XVI, Luna  
Date: 798.M30

Uriah Olathaire was both old and young. The Guardian of the Imperial Truth was reaching nearly triple the age he was expected to live too. This, of course, was thanks to the gilded energy gifted from the Emperor that coursed through his body and soul. At fifty he felt ancient, now he wondered how he would feel at five thousand. Despite his vastly extended life and a plethora of experiences Uriah still felt like an overeager wet behind the ears child when compared to the other members of the Emperor's inner circle.

For in truth that comparison was rather accurate. Malcador had been a respected member of his order even before the Old Night. Taranis and Valdor were both as old as the Imperium and had fought in its first battles. The Ancient Squat Zamora had traveled with the Emperor during the Old Night and Uriah could only guess the origin and age of the Golden Women who he had witnessed within the Emperor's quarters

Even so, this comparable youth was respected by the Imperium for his wisdom and skill. The skills of the clergy and his own natural charisma had ended battles before they had even started. Uriah had preached before millions, conveying the Imperial Truth to the masses. Explaining how any being that demanded worship was unworthy of it. How the god-things the unenlightened worshipped and sacrificed so much for were at best myths and at worst, parasites feeding off of them.

His duties and roles within the growing Imperium were almost as varied as Malcadors. The groundwork for the Iterator Corps and other public faces of the Imperium had been laid with his assistance. Zealots and Cult Leaders had been debated publicly as a way of showing the masses the ease that their arguments and insanity of their ilk could be dismantled and rebuked. A mastery of rhetoric and a near supernatural charisma had been gifts from the Master of Mankind to assist Uriah. Even after decades of using them the notion his mind and soul had been altered to better suit the Emperor's needs rather disturbing.

The fact it did not fill him with horror and disgust at the violation and manipulation just went to show the skill that was used in the act. Uriah was conscious of this and privately wondered how much of the Priest of the Church of Lighting Stone was left within him.

That soft-spoken old clergyman had been steadily replaced by a confident Imperial Elite. The advocate primus for the Imperial Truth who illuminated the masses to the bright future awaiting humanity and the Imperium. How the Emperor's sons and the Legions would drive back the darkness and make the Galaxy a place safe for humanity. A place where the wonders of the Golden Age could be surpassed and humanity would become what they had always been destined to be.

Recently Uriah had his hands full not just with his typical duties but helping smooth Martian-Terran relations, along with dealing with one of the more curious effects of the Astronomicon. The Beacon could be detected anywhere in the Galaxy by most psykers worthy of the designation. To the surprise to all except maybe the Emperor. (it was always hard to tell with him) A surprising number of these Psykers had managed to organize exoduses from the hellholes they originated from.

Massive migrant fleets had followed the psychic beacon to Terra. Not using it as a point of focus and mapping like a navigator but a simple lighthouse to draw them to port. Every month a few more ragged vessels unworthy to be called Voidships appeared at the outskirts of the Solar System. At first, these refugees had been forced to run a gauntlet of Xeno Slavers to reach Imperial Space. Now the Emperor had adjusted the Astronomicon so its beacon would lure the ragged fleets to protected positions.

These refugees had in many different forms worshipped the Astronomicon. The more psychically aware had even identified its source as a being and pledged undying rapturous loyalty to the Emperor. The Psychic light of the beacon had a strange effect on humans, all but the most psychically dull could in some way feel it. A calm soothing warmth on the soul that cushioned all those exposed to it from the horrors in the Warp.

This power while advantageous in reducing the influence of the Four and making dark rituals significantly harder the closer one got to Sol it made Uriah's duties much harder. The refugee fleets were vindicated fanatics whose faith had become adamantium clad. Convincing them that the Emperor was not a God and that worshipping him as such went against everything the Imperium stood for had been extremely difficult.

Difficult but mostly successful. The Neologian Corps, an organization founded by Uriah to handle Emperor-Worship and other such salvageable cults had managed to rehabilitate the vast majority of the Refugees. The only notable group of refugees who rejected the Imperial truth no matter the tactics used to illuminate them was ironically the first group.

The Bearers of the Saving Light as they called themselves had fled an Orkish WAAAGH into the void and warp at the behest of the cult's founder and Saint, Petronilla Dorovna. Dorovna had started her life as the daughter of scrap merchant, and had through sheer luck underwent her Psychic awakening the moment the Astronomicon light had washed over her homeworld. This confluence of fate had linked her to it. She could sense the beacon, as well as any navigator and the constant presence of its golden light, had convinced her utterly of the Emperor's divinity.

This unshakable belief had infecter her followers and she presented a massive ideological danger to the infant Imperium. They had been sequestered away within the Palace and spent their days debating the Neologians and resisting any attempt to rehabilitate them. Uriah had personally debated Dorovna on multiple occasions and was reminded of himself at a younger age to a certain extent.

These debates had been long arduous affairs that eventually ended with Uriah being called away on some other business and the women's conviction not wavered in the slightest. This and most of his other duties put a strain on him, the only exception, the only he viewed as more than a duty was his role as counselor and confesser. The living legends and living legends to-be that formed the Emperor's family and court sought both his wisdom and humanity.

That role he relished of being able to aide and provide guidance to those around him was why the Emperor had sent him to Luna, the Master of Mankind and the Court of Destiny had realized someone of his talents (and clearance level) was required to help guide a young boy who would be arriving soon to the Genelabs onto a brighter path.

Leaning on his cane that acted as both badge of office and support for a leg wound that despite healing thanks to the Emperor's power decades ago still bothered him with psychosomatic pain Uriah watched as hundreds of scared children were corralled off the loading dock. Collected from Chthonia under the pretense of slave raids, which in a sense these harvests were, thousands of children displaying atypical physical and mental fortitude had been brought to Luna.

Chthonian genetic makeup led to atypical compatibility with the V and XVI legions. Allowing for massive numbers of Astartes to be created from the Ganger children rounded up by the Imperium. The information gleaned from the Court of Destiny told Uriah one of the vessels docking today would hold a boy who could either become an exemplar of the Legio Astartes or a despoiler of countless worlds.

A series of screams and feral animal-like noises pierced the quiet murmuring of the Void-Dock. Uriah knew at once that was his cue. Moving quickly to the source of the commotion the man who had once been the Last Priest was greeted with a sight that would have almost been amusing if blood and brain matter were not splattered upon those involved. A boy of barely half a Terran decade in age was cornered by a trio of Wardens. A fourth warden lay dead at the child's feet, still slightly twitching as his blood pooled around his burst skull.

Somehow the feral youth had managed to escape the processing procession and ambush his pursuers. An improvised leaver had been used to drop cargo onto the Wardens, killing the one and stunning the others long enough for the boy to steal his victims buzz-baton. While still outnumbered the child had turned the batons settings up to a seizure-inducing voltage and kept his foes at bay with it. All while screaming what Uriah assumed were particularly foul Chthonic curses.

The Wardens, in turn, responded with what Uriah assumed from the tone were equally dire threats in Chthonic. The men and women who sailed to Chtonia and ran the harvests were oftentimes natives of that world or at least could speak their language in passing. This was important in not only establishing positive relations with the youths but for Uriah's mission.

Approaching the situation the Guardian of Truth placed his hands on the Wardens shoulders and with confidence born of decades of practice convinced them to leave. He would handle this, the other reason he touched them was to use a psychic gift granted to him by the Emperor in order to assist his duties. By touching a speaker of a language unknown to him Uriah could for a time speak it fluently, as the knowledge was copied over to his brain and usable for a few days.

As the Wardens backed away he spoke to the youth: "Hello Ezekyle, we have much to discuss"

Momentary shock flared across the shaggy-haired boy before he regained his composure. Snarling Ezekyle Abaddon answered: "Who the Frak are you and how the Frak do you know my name?"

Calmly Uriah responded while edging closer to the boy: "My name is Uriah Olathaire, I was sent here by the Emperor to ask you a few questions. Would you mind putting down the baton so we can speak?"

Charisma be it supernatural or natural no matter how powerful was not enough to break through survival-fear and Ezekyle did not budge. Uriah doubted his words would have had the desired effect but figured it was worth a shot.

"Do you know why you are here young one?" asked the former Priest as he eased his body weight onto his cane and prepared to speak to the youth at weapon-point

Shifting his stance slightly while still holding the crackling buzz-baton Ezekyle spook softly "The gang-grabbers said there was a fight, a big fight. It needs Tough-Bastards to win it."

A sneer of slight derision passed over the boys face as he continued "What sort of limp-necked gang needs to kiddenap to fight its fights? You have these big movers and plenty of Grabbers to steal us and keep us so why not use them for your fight?"

Smiling softly Uriah was not surprised the perspective of those born within the depths of hives was often incredibly limited. Abaddon's answer was technically correct so Uriah continued. "Not a fight my child, a War. A conflict that will only end with humanity ruling the galaxy or dead. Tell me Ezekyle who would you fight and die for?"

Almost instantly the steely-eyed child answered with conviction and sincerity disturbing for one so young. "My gang and my family. I would kill for them and die to protect them"

With that statement Uriah knew his mission would be a success, now all that needed to be done was ensure the Child knew the truth of what constituted his tribe and family. "So if a bigger gang attacked both your gang and your neighbor gang would you work together to defeat the threat and become one stronger gang?"

Tentatively Abaddon nodded in agreement and Uriah went on: "So what if an even worse gang threatened to take your hive away from you and kill your family? Would you fight and die for your entire Hive?"

Ezekyle Abaddon's young hive-born mind could scarcely imagine such a devastating conflict but if it were to occur he knew he and his Gang would kill to keep their home. Abaddon said as much and Uriah initiated the final push.

"What if monsters from beyond the stars invaded your entire world? Things that sought to eat you and your family alive for the sick enjoyment of it? Would you and your world unite to drive off those monsters? I imagine you would, well what if such monsters threatened every human on every world? Would you fight and die to protect another human you never met across the galaxy because they were part of your gang?"

Still unsure of what the old man was getting at Ezekyle responded "Yeah, if they are part of my gang they would die for me and I would die for them"

"Well that is the nature of it Ezekyle, our species is one gang, one tribe, one people. There are nightmares that seek to break us and consume us. Simply because we dare to live, we dare to survive and thrive. That is the war you have been chosen to fight. To unite the millions of gangs and worlds of humanity against the coming darkness." this Speech and countless versions of it had been spoken by Uriah to help sway entire nations to the Imperiums cause.

Preparing to finish Uriah could sense his words entering the boy's mind and soul. "That is what the Imperium is, that is what the Emperor's dream is. To bring unity to Humanity. We must stand together as a people against the darkness or be swallowed piecemeal by it. Will you stand as a Warrior of Humanity? A Soldier in the Legion of Light?"

Slowly lowering his stolen weapon the illuminated child answered Uriah and denied the Dark Gods their greatest champion "Yes, I will stand and fight."

Approaching and placing his hand on the child's shoulders Uriah thanked Ezekyle for his strength and willingness to fight. He walked the boy who would be a legend to the Processing center and prepared to leave Luna. For his countless other duties awaited.

Uriah was not privy to the events he had set in motion but others were. Within the Imperial Palace as he watched his sons and their legions practice the Emperor of Mankind felt the fates shift. Soon Ezekyle Abaddon would become one of humanity's greatest heroes, instead of one of its greatest foes.

The boy would undergo the implantation of Gene Seed and by a one in a billion odds become greater than virtually any Astartes. He along with a few other names that would go down in the histories of the Legio Astartes was uniquely compatible with his Primarchs genes. Abaddon would be empowered to become something greater than an Astartes but less than a Primarch. Similar to Ghota's relation to Arik Taranis, Abaddon would become the greatest Son of Horus.

Peering into the Future the Emperor let out a deep sigh and thought to himself. "Fourteen Years till the Crusade is ready. Any longer and our window is too short."

Focusing for a moment the Master of Mankind manipulated the Astronomicon. Golden Psychic-Fire that washed through the Warp started to pulse at a strange frequency. Only a being of the Warp and incredibly powerful could determine the message conveyed by viewing these fluctuations in their entirety.

The Four self-proclaimed Gods detected the message and howled in fury and just a hint of fear as the Emperor's words crashed into them. "Your Doom is coming"


	20. Chapter 17: Opening Gambits

Chapter Seventeen: Opening Gambits

Location: Vaults of the Sigillite

Date: 812.M30

The Day had arrived. Thirty years to the day since the lighting of the Astronomicon and the birth of the Primarchs. After decades of preparation, unification, and planning the Great Crusade to unify the human species was ready to start. Entire fleets orbited Mars, hundreds of thousands of Astartes along with millions of Imperial Army troops were gathering and preparing to start the Crusades first Campaign.

The Solar System was humanities cradle and needed to be cleansed. As the ashes of the Iron War cooled and the Age of Strife truly began slavers, raiders and worse descended upon the Sol System. Entire orbital habitats were stripped clean, the last surviving bits of ancient terraforming projects were destroyed as colonies suffered under the Alien and the Mutants cruelties.

Only Mars and Terra had been safe from these cruel predations. Protected by technological wonders and the Emperors respectively. The Emperor had sensed the suffering and misery of billions and had been unable to prevent it. Thousands of years ago while peering up into the Terran sky atop what had once been known as the Everest Mount he had sworn a bloody oath to avenge each and every life lost to the treacherous and the insane. Now the time to fulfill that oath had come.

Over the next few days the twenty Legions would launch and reclaim the Solar System, then the Twenty Crusader Fleets of the Imperium would leave Mother Sol and strike as mankind's wrath incarnate against the nightmares that dared taint humanities galaxy. Behind them would be hundreds of Expedition fleets sent to explore and unify the species.

The honor of first launch and strike belonged to the First Legion. The great fleet of Crusader Fleet One was preparing to leave Terran Orbit. Nearly Three hundred thousand Genesons of the First Primarch were being ferried aboard the Fleet by flocks of Stormbirds and last minute checks were starting.

A massive psychic-perception filter generated by the Emperor and projected by the Astronomicon hid the massive force from the galaxy. The Master of Mankind had once explained it to his sons as the Psychic equivalent of shining a light in someone's eyes to force them to look away. In fact, the Astronomicon had a similar effect on most Psychically active species in the galaxy that tried to view its source.

This was why none of the numerous powerful psychic species that would seek to destroy the infant Imperium had never journeyed to Sol. To them, it appeared humanity had destroyed itself in a great psychic inferno similar to the Eldar. Only the mad, the psychically blind and humans dared enter the inferno. This suited the Imperiums needs perfectly.

On the morning of the Launch, the First Primarch was called away from his duties by a strange message. Malcador the Sigillite required his presence within his sanctum. Eddard Fendragoon had never been particularly close to his Father's advisor and friend unlike some of his brothers. They had maintained mutual respect and Malcador had helped Eddard refine his Force-weapon skills. So the request, especially at such a critical juncture, seemed odd. Even so, Malcador was not one to waste time or be kept waiting so Eddard and his honor guard ventured into the Wing of the Palace Malcador called his.

They struck a magnificent sight, a fully grown Primarch and his trusted elite. Eddard strode through the vaulted granite halls of the Imperial Palace with his Sons forming a square around him. Standing over three meters the 1st Primarch was a heroic myth given flesh. Long golden hair was swept back from his forehead giving the impression of a lions mane framing his aristocratic features. His Eyes were forest green with golden flecks, they seemed more appropriate within a great Felines skull than a human, no matter how evolved.

While his honor guard wore enhanced Mk II Legio Armor Eddard's wargear was a Primarchs and a master crafted unique wonder. Eddard had personally created the basic design, and his more technically inclined siblings had improved it as a gift like they had all of their brothers. What unified the Primarch and Astartes armor was its color and heraldry. Obsidian black with Gold trim the 1st Legions armor struck an intimidating and awe-inspiring sight. Like all of its sibling Legions, it had not earned a name and sigil. The shoulder pad held a simple Gothic numeral One.

Various Administratium Adepts and menial scurried from the approaching demigod and transhumans. A few were foolish enough to glance upon Eddard and were transfixed by the Young Kings aura. Unlike most humans, they quickly recovered. The Emperor himself was a not uncommon guest in this part of the palace. The servants here were the ones who could withstand the mind-crushing pressure of numerous close encounters with the Master of Mankind and his Custodes. A Primarch is a great thing but still a shadow of their Father.

Eventually, Eddard reached the doors to the meeting place. It was a strange hidden away part of the palace. The entrance to the chamber was guarded by Malcadors Chosen. Even if Eddard could not have sensed his pseudo-uncles soul beyond the doors the presence of the ancient psykers praetorians was an indication of his presence or at least influence. The Captain of the Chosen Squad motioned for them to stop and spoke: "I am sorry my Lord Primarch but the Sigilites orders were explicit. Only you are allowed beyond here."

As one the Astartes bristled and reached for their weapons. Despite all the augmentations and enhancements of the Astartes, they were anxious about the coming battles and they feared enemy actions against their Gene-Father. Eddard had to admit he was impressed the Chosen had barely reacted to a squad of heavily armored Astartes preparing to attack them. With a gesture, he dismissed his Honor Guard and they testily took up defensive possessions across from Malcadors Chosen.

The chambers doors opened silently before Eddard could even touch them, they shut just as efficiently as soon as he entered. With a cursory glance, the First Primarch realized the looking he had been summoned too. It was a rumored place within the Palace. A location that's existence was debated and any information on was coveted viciously. Eddard Fendragoon had entered Malcadors Museum.

The Sigillite was well known for sponsoring various expeditions and archeological digs into the Old Earth. Some of the great exhibit's of various Imperial Museums had been found in these digs. Still, rumors persisted that some of the more choice artifacts had vanished into Malcadors own private collection. This mythical museum supposedly held treasure troves of items of both historical and cultural significance. Eddard had heard his brothers whisper that when Old Night fell Malcador and his order had raided humanities museums and cultural centers to preserve the most priceless antiquities.

Stepping into the museum confirmed all of these rumors and revealed that if anything they understated the truth. Display cases neatly filled every wall and free space of the hidden vault. Eddards senses detected the telltale signs of hundreds of stasis-fields protecting the exhibits. The Firstborn knew Malcador was in the Chamber, the highly distinct psychic radiance of the Sigillite filled the chamber and seemed to be coming from the far end of the labyrinthian gallery.

Eddards othersight felt the symbolic energy of the countless artifacts leaking into the ether. This alone told him how old some of these objects were. Stasis fields slowed time to an incomprehensible small fraction of its original passage but even so time still passed within. Not enough to ever truly affect the items inside but enough to let the psychic energy of things immersed in warp-stuff or of particular spiritual resonance leak out. This process took millennia and Eddard and his brothers had only studied the theory involved. Huge sections of the Museum had been held in stasis since the very technology had been invented.

Moving with the practiced and powerful slowness of an apex predator the Primarch maneuvered through Malcadors museum. His eyes caught sight of glittering nano-colonies locked in time. Ancient scrolls of vellum that contained myths and sagas. A primitive gilded pod that despite its bizarre appearance was labeled as the first manned craft to touch Luna. These and countless other exhibits both small and massive documented legendary moments from human history.

The Primarch knew the chambers sprawled out in every direction, and this antechamber was simply the entrance to a much greater complex of lost wonders. He pondered this as he neared the end of the current chamber. These ponderings were interrupted by an ancient yet still powerful voice echoing from the chambers far wall.

"I have worked to maintain this collection for thousands of years. The documentation and protection of our species history was the duty of my order for most of our space-faring history. I am the last of that order and this Museum is the last reminder of so much that might forever be lost. So that leads me to my question Eddard, what do you think of it?"

The speaker was as ancient and withered as any of the exhibits he had surrounded himself with. Malcador the Sigillite: the Emperor's right hand stood in front of ancient stained-glass that formed the chambers back wall. The years seemed to weigh him down and the ancient mortal sagged against his staff. Even so, one as gifted with immaterial power such as Eddard knew the truth of the man before him. The psychic power that poured off Malcador was second only to his father and it even felt like a shadow of the golden corona he associated with the Emperor.

Observing the museum Eddard spoke: "It is most impressive, a testament to your wisdom and humanities Saga. That being said I have two questions for you Uncle."

A small smile further wrinkled Malcadors ancient face, it pleased him to be considered family by the Primarchs. "Oh? What questions might you have Eddard?"

Studying the exhibits with clinical detachment the Primarch responded: "First if the goal of your Museum is to preserve humanities history why are you keeping it a secret from humanity?"

The smile on Malcadors face turned somber at that. "Much was lost when Old Night came. Far more than you could ever imagine. Certain truths and knowledge would be far too destructive if they were widely known. The malignancy in the Warp is just one of many horrors humanity must be prepared to face. There is an old saying, "knowledge is power." Fools and egomaniacs believe that means all knowledge is good and necessary. In truth knowledge like any source of power can just as easily bring ruin as it can success."

Eddard knew the truth of those words more than most, he had personally witnessed the madness that had almost claimed his younger brother Magnus. In the three months, his sibling had disappeared into the tender mercies of the Lightingbearer the remaining Primarchs had been very well educated in the dangers of the Warp. His perfect memory could still summon up the wretched images of witch-things that had once been men mutated beyond recognition by the whims of Alien intellects.

He had been in charge of purging a rogue technocratic commune that went beyond the restrictions of the Lex Imperialis and delved into crafts and rituals born of living madness. Entire hab-blocks had to be scoured and melted down to fully remove the mutagenic taint of the Changer of Ways. Wise-folk who had sought to better themselves and others had been reduced to mewling masses of tumors and broken flesh. Knowledge was indeed power, and it must be guarded well.

Shuddering at what other truths burdened Malcador and his Father (which in time would eventually burden him as well) Eddard asked his other question. "I understand that it's a grim reality of our galaxy but that does not explain why you have summoned me here on the eve of the Crusade."

Turning away from the Primarch Malcador gestured at the stained-glass window behind him. Depicted there were numerous scenes that seemed to tell the saga of a King. Starting with the claiming of an entombed blade and ending with a band of Knights battling monstrous hordes. Eddard knew it was a rendition of the Arturian legends of ancient Gret Britton.

Before the Primarch could express confusion over it Malcador spoke. "Your father and I had high hopes and great worries when we initiated the Primarch Projects. You and your siblings could just as easily spell the damnation of our species as be its salvation."

That fact had been an open secret among the Primarchs, they knew the powers and abilities they wielded could lead them down foul paths. More than once during their childhood had a Primarch strayed into forbidden and twisted territory. The psychic links that connected the deepest sections of the brother's souls had helped keep any of them from becoming too far gone. The literal bonds of brotherhood formed a defense against the Warps horror.

Continuing Malcador spoke with a subtle hint of kindness: "Those fears have been thankfully negated. You and your brothers have surpassed any and all expectations we had. Frankly Eddard I am proud to consider you my kin and I believe the future of our species is at its brightest in millennia."

Malcador was anything but an emotional person, quiet wit and stoic commentary were the typical extents of the Ancients emotions. Eddard was taken aback and touched deeply by the Sigilites words.

Continuing the Emperor's Right Hand turned to look at the stained glass depiction of the claiming of Xalibar as he spoke. "Each of you was crafted in the image of a particular archetype from Human history. Literal living legends to unify the Galaxy. That keen intellect you and your brothers possess most likely assumed as much."

That much had been assumed by the Primarchs. The most extensive surviving library of human history had been theirs to explore as youths. The similarities between the brothers and certain recurring historical constants had been obvious. Tyric was the Northern Barbarian King, Dante the Angel, Horus the General, Vulkan the maker-king, and so on and so on.

At Eddard's acknowledgment of the truth of the statement, Malcador spoke more: "Can you guess what legend you were meant to continue young Lion?"

Almost immediately he replied as he pointed towards the stained-glass. "The Heroic King. Like Arthuris, Davi'd, Ozymand, Jimi, and other such examples."

Reaching out to touch the stained glass Malcador laughed slightly: "I suppose that was obvious. Such figures have appeared throughout history near constantly, great warriors and leaders who serve something greater than themselves. Each of these Kings believed themselves to be touched by what they called the Divine. Some were mad, some were kin to your father and a few were guided by him to help keep our species safe."

"That role of Knight-King, warrior, leader, and instrument of the Emperor falls to you Eddard. You were first conceived and born of your brothers, as such the eldest and most constant role falls to you." finished Malcador.

Thousands of thoughts poured through the superhuman mind of the First Primarch, he felt honored and humbled by his Uncles words. Of all these thoughts a single pressing question left his lips: "What does this mean?"

Turning to face Eddard again Malcador let out a sad chuckle: "Valdor and myself are referred to as the Emperor's left and right hand respectively. The meanings of those unofficial titles are many. Constantin Valdor holds the shield that protects your father as the left hand and deals in shadows as the sinister appendage. Similarly, I also had multiple roles. As both Imperial pen and sword, both equally mighty."

At that Eddard raised an eyebrow. He knew full well Malcadors psychic and intellectual might but the idea of the withered old man being ever considered a weapon or a weapon wielder seemed incredulous.

Whether through reading his thoughts or his body language (one never knew with Malcador and Eddard's father) the Sigillite knew and answered his unspoken question. "Even I was young once Young Lion."

A slight psychic probe originating from Malcadors mind and touched Eddards. With the Primarchs consent millennia old memories entered his mind.

*Unending mechanical swarms of insane murder-machines pouring in from every direction.*

*A dozen mech-suited warriors each slaying hundreds every moment with an unparalleled mix of martial skill and psychic power.*

*Multi-meter long blades of Adamantium cleaved through brute-robots with ease while warp-lighting danced off the war-suits cockpit and evaporated Data-feeding parasites.*

*The Cockpit was struck with a beam of liquid metal moving fast enough to be mistaken for a laser.*

*Surviving only thanks to an unbreakable kine-shield the mech-warriors suit staggered and its occupant exposed. Even with millennia of pain and experience removed the features and golden eyes of Malcador the Sigillite were unmistakable.*

Absorbing the memories of Malcadors time as Captain of the 1st Psi-Knight Division during the Iron War would have put most any being into shock. For a primarch mild surprise was all that entered Eddards mind as entire campaigns of horrific data entered him. Softly saying words that lesser beings would interpret as a question but was in truth a statement Eddard said: "You were one of the first combat-psykers in human history. You fought through the worst of the Machine uprising and were recruited out of your retirement as a Sigillite by my father."

"Yes, Psykers have always existed throughout human history, it was only with the Warps rising madness that the numbers and dangers ever reached this level. To combat some of the impossible weapons our creation unleashed impossible powers were needed. I spent those centuries of relative youth once I met the Emperor as his sword. Those days are long behind me." said Malcador and as he finished a slightly wistful look crossed his face.

Tentatively Eddard responded as the pieces fell into place. "You want me to be fathers sword? The right hand of War?"

Smiling softly Malcador confirmed the Primarchs words: "Yes Eddard, I want you to be my successor. That is why I asked you to join me here today. To ask you to take up this role I am unable to fulfill. If you and by your consent your legion chose to take this role, you will be first among equals. You already are a paragon among your brothers, if you choose to take this role you will lead them and the Imperium to victory and glory."

Malcador half expected the Primarch to either desperately try to deny his worthiness and claim another should take his place. Or over eagerly claim the role as his and flaunt the status it gave him. Most of his siblings would fall into one of those two categories. Either drowning in the power or becoming drunk on it. Eddard reaction was what Malcador had hoped when he picked him for this duty.

"I understand Malcador, I will fulfill this duty to the best of my abilities," responded Eddard with calm determination coloring his regal face.

That answer was why Eddard Fendragoon had been selected for this duty. From before his artificial birth he had been groomed for this role. To be the Emperor's Sword, not a Warmaster or Lord of War but a living weapon forged to defend humanity and drive back the darkness. A noble Knight-King ever questing in his Lords name.

Taking Eddard's massive hand into his own Malcador gave a warning: "It seems I choose correctly for this task Eddard. You are the first of your brothers to have your role made apparent. Still, keep in mind this honor means responsibility. You must be an ideal your siblings and the Imperiums countless warriors and soldiers must aspire too. Know that Primarch and the future of our species is secured.

At Malcadors gesture the Primarch knelt like a Knight of old and felt the Sigilites staff touch his shoulder as the ancient spoke. "Eddard Fendragoon, with the power vested in me by the Master of Mankind I name thee The Emperor's Sword."

Then he started to recite the oath and with each question and answer, he moved the staff's tip to the Primarchs other shoulder in a neo-knighting ceremony.

"Do you swear to serve Mankind and keep it secure from the horrors of the Universe?"

"I do"

"Do you swear to always strike those who would do our species harm with a swiftblade, a steady heart, and no mercy?"

"I do"

"Do you swear to set an example your siblings can aspire to, while not lording over them?"

"I do"

"Do you swear loyalty to the Emperor of Mankind and to his grand vision?"

"I do"

"Do you swear to be just to your subordinates, fair to your equals and bring judgment to your enemies?"

"I do"

"Do you swear to lead mankind when you are needed and will step aside when you are not?"

"I do"

"Eddard Fendragoon will you become the Emperor's Sword?"

"I will"

With those fateful words, the ceremony ended and the First Primarch took up the mantle he had been created for. Rising to his feet he solemnly bowed to Malcador and said: "I am honored beyond words, I will do everything in my power to fulfill my oaths and continue the example you set Lord-Sigillite."

Smiling softly Malcador responded: "I know"

"I have a pair of gifts for you Eddard" continued Malcador.

With a tap of his staff, the stained-glass mural slid into the wall revealing a hidden display set into the wall. An ancient intricate Force-Sword floated in the stasis-case display. It was more than two meters from pommel to tip. Circuits of both material and immaterial energy lined its Adamantium alloy blade. In the shape of a classical Europa long-sword was mankind's martial history made manifest. Eddard had only ever seen a weapon of equal craft and wonder, and it was wielded by his Father.

The case opened, field deactivated and it slowly floated towards the Primarch. Instinctually he reached out and took it by its hilt. When it was fully in his grip he knew it was the perfect weapon. Balanced and sized perfectly even for his bulk, its edge had been forged with lost technology to a mono-molecular energized tip.

Psychic runes and circuits eagerly awaited his minds touch and when he connected his soul to the blade it ignited instantly in blinding white light. Quickly diming it Eddard moved with it experimentally, it already felt like an extension of his body and soul. This was the sword he had been destined to use.

As he felt himself bond to it a certain leftover flicker of psychic residue hidden within it entered his mind. Realizing the source he turned to look at Malcador and said.

"This was your blade, what you used in the Iron War when you battled alongside Father."

"Yes, it is the perfection of Force-Weaponry. the wisdom of your father and the material mastery of the Golden Age formed into a killing edge." responded the Sigillite

"What is its name?" asked Eddard.

"Titansword, it earned that name twice over. first, for the Moon, it was forged on, second, for slaying many Mad-Titans during the Iron War."

Smiling at the possibilities such a weapon possessed Eddard thanked his uncle and predecessor: "I will wield your gift as the Emperor's Sword. Its edge will taste Xeno-blood and its Fire will scour Neverborn from being. Thank you Malcador, you have honored me beyond words."

"That was my gift to you, don't you want your Father's?" asked the ancient psyker.

"Your Father the Matrari and I have all been working on gifts for each of you. To be presented to each of you at your fleets launch. One gift of War and one of Peace. The Titansword was your gift of War."

On that cue, the museum's doors opened and in walked Meghann Winzar, Eddards Assa-Matrari. Dressed in regal dress common to the noble families she was descended from she struck the figure of Aristocratic matriarch perfectly. Her face held a kind soft smile that the stern and strong-willed women saved for Eddard alone. In her hands was a wooden box with the Emperors personal seal upon it.

Once she reached them she hugged her son and spoke chidingly to Malcador: "My Grandchildren may be genetically engineered super-soldiers built for war but they have better manners than your guards Malcador. If Captain Lanval hadn't stopped them your chosen would have searched me in a far too thorough manner for my taste."

Smiling at his adoptive mother's sharp tongue Eddard interceded on his Uncles behalf: "Now Matron they were simply doing their duty. I assume they broke countless protocols to let you even be here."

"I suppose so. They are at least more palatable than your Fathers gilded automata." she sighed as she gave a final withering glare at Malcador.

Numerous unpleasant incidents involving the fanatical protectiveness of the Custodes had earned the entire brotherhood the near-unanimous ire of the Assa-Matrari. The Golden Legion had fast learned the age-old adage that the most dangerous lifeform was a mother protecting her children was not an exaggeration.

Turning to speak to Malcador Meghann curtly asked. "Could you please channel him? My son has many duties to attend to and a war to start."

At that remark, Golden light filled the Chamber and an ancient psychic link was activated. The Emperor of Mankind or at least a shadow of him joined them in the chamber. Speaking through Malcador the Father of the Primarchs smiled and said in a voice that radiated fatherly love, and calm power.

"Eddard I am so proud of you my son. You and your brothers have exceeded my hopes by far. It is my honor and pleasure to have you as my sons. I have a gift for you and your brothers."

With those words, Meghann opened the box and showed its content to her son. Within was an ornate golden ring. Carved in the shape of a snarling lion with onyx eyes it was large enough to serve as a women's bracelet, or fit on a Primarchs ring finger.

The Emperor's golden light levitated the ring out of its cushioned box and onto his son's hand as he spoke: "After an arduous search I found a large ingot of gold mined near my home village around the year of my birth. I crafted this ingot into a set of rings. One for each of my sons. Formed in the astrological sigil they are linked to and forged by my psychic power."

Eddard felt the faint soothing glow of his Father's power emanating from the metal. With a motion, he disengaged his right gauntlet and let the armor fall to the floor as he used his left hand to place the ring upon his finger. A warmth spread from it over him as the Emperor's projection spoke.

"It is human history forged by a father's protection, blessed with a mothers love and crafted in the image of our son. Eddard take these gifts of war and peace. Go forth and be the hero you were meant to be."

With those words, the Emperor's visage faded from being and Eddard knelt down and embraced his adoptive mother. After a few parting words to both her and Malcador, he redonned his gauntlet over his ring-bearing hand locked his new blade to his hip and left the Museum. Flanked by his guards he marched back to his waiting legion. He was the Emperors Sword and he had a War to win.

The rest of the day continued as originally planned. Armies were marshaled and battle plans were made. The first target of the Great Crusades conquest of Sol was the Asteroid belt that split humanities cradle in two. The duty of subjecting this maze of cosmic debris that was both heavily defended by Xeno raiders and mineral-rich fell to the First and Second legions.

At the height of the Age of Strife when all sense of sanity had faded away a species of alien-scum that had once been cast to the farthest reaches of the galaxy for their despicable nature had infested Sol. A race of mutants, slavers and worse the Q'Hrel had conquered the mines and bastions of the Belt and turned into their own private fiefdom.

From their seemingly impregnable system of lashed together asteroids and scavenged void-habitats the Q'Hrel had enjoyed an age of bounty where millions of humans from across the Solar System were stolen away in their raids to be used as slaves or worse for foul Xeno Masters. Striking at these Xenos and reclaiming the Belt from them would not only be a great strategic success in acquiring resources and a defensive line but also show humanity the nightmares of Old Night could bleed.

The I and II Legions would work in concert with each other to blitz the Xenos. Stamping them out of existence before they could even organize a defense. Q'Hrel infestations filled the Belt. It would be a brutal Naval campaign to purge them from the Belt and make it safe for human colonization. The central domain within the belt of the Xeno-Slavers was the dwarf-planet Ceres. Once an ancient communication relay it was now a vile flesh-market where Xeno-Breeds of all kinds bought and sold humans like (or as) livestock.

That planetoid was the prime target of the Ist Legion. They would crush the Q'Hrel with blade and bolter. Freeing the slaves and restoring Ceres to its rightful owners. This strike would appear from the void and smash the slavers leadership. During the attack, the swashbuckling second Primarch Aleixo Garvia would lead the Imperial Fleet in destroying the other infestations.

Once Ceres was safely in Imperial hands and the Belt was open for colonization and exploitation the next phase of the Crusade would begin. The next eighteen legions would spread throughout both inner and outer Sol and reclaim the system. This first step was critical if the initial decisive strike was anything less than that the Imperium would be bogged down in months if not years of brutal tunnel fighting.

The final speeches and proclamations declaring the start of the Crusade had ended days ago. Now the citizens of Terra could only stand by and watch as legions of superhuman soldiers were steadily transported to the waiting fleet. The First Legions Flagship was even now docked in low earth orbit above Gredbrittion. The massive Gloriana-class Battleship known as The Ty-Prydwen could hold a complement of over a hundred thousand battle-brothers of the First Legion along with all the armor, weapons, vehicles, support staff, auxillia and other necessities of War.

That was where Eddard Fendragon was headed. It had been a few hours since his fateful meeting with Malcador. In that time final launch preparations had been made and final words had been shared between him and his Matrari. He was off to war. Of course, he had combat and command experience through training and helping put down numerous threats on both Terra and Mars but this was no skirmish or exercise. This was going to be a war.

The prospect of such a thing sent a shiver up his spine. An instinctual response shared by all great predators when prey was near. Like all Primarchs and humans, in general, Eddard was a complicated being. He was both the noble Knight-King of the Imperial Court and a vicious apex-predator that thirsted for blood and doom. This dichotomy of honorable noble behavior in civilian settings while being brutal, efficient, and pragmatic killing machines on the battlefield was shared by the entire Ist Legion.

One hundred thousand Astartes of the First Legion were now aboard the Ty-Prydwen, the massive vessel was the first and so far only Gloriana-class ship to leave the Martian Ring of Iron. The next nineteen were awaiting finishing touches and data collected from the Ty-Prydwens first engagement to be ready for launch.

An escort of Battle-Barges, Battlecruisers and comparatively minuscule destroyers each containing Astartes contingents formed an honor guard for the massive vessel. Between the dozens upon dozens of ships, 300,000 battle-ready soldiers of the First Legion stood ready to bring hell to the Imperium's foes.

Eddards personal Stormbird landed within his flagship and the Primarch and honor guard made their way through rows of saluting Astartes. Some of these Astartes had never seen their gene-father in person. These young battle-brothers managed to maintain their composure even as the demi-god of war their very genetics were bound to strowed past them. Armored in a flawless obsidian plate and armed with a Sword forged to a perfect killing edge he was the Imperiums Black Knight in all its terrible glory.

Leaving the hanger the Primarch and his guards ventured to the ship's bridge. The Command Throne of the vessel was gigantic, sculpted to fit the Primarchs mass. Command thrones allowed a ship's Captain to quickly and efficiently access the tremendous amount of information required to command a Void-Ship.

The Ty-Prydwen's Throne was a much greater object. It was interlinked with the entirety of the First Legions Fleet and allowed a being of sufficient intellect and willpower to not only observe and understand the entirety of the fleet but command it near instantaneously. Orders could be transmitted to the Command Thrones of the fleets various ships and allow mass synchronization and grand strategy on a nearly unmatchable scale.

Eddard was skilled at fleet command and could wield his personal fleet as if it were all his own ship. Even so, he utterly paled in comparison to the other Primarch involved with this mission. Aleixo Garvia had earned his nickname of "Void Master" many times over. In both simulations and actual Void-exercises, he had surpassed his siblings easily. The Second Primarch had arrived into his current flag-vessel hours before and had taken command of the hundreds of massed Imperial ships readying for the battle to come.

Once his armor and mind were fully synced into his throne Eddard let the never-ending onslaught of data both trivial and critical bombard him. Processing at a rate a macro-cogitator would be hard-pressed to match the Primarch grasped and understood the condition, capabilities and best tactical uses of the Fleet. A small smile crossed the Primarchs face as he confirmed the Fleet was combat ready and awaiting his orders.

Within the torrent of data was a Vox burst from his brother's current flagship, the Battlebarge Endeavour. It was a private communique from his brother who had apparently earned the title of Imperial Explorer to match Eddards role as the Emperors Blade. The first and second born Primarchs were close to each other and despite the contrast of Eddards stoicism and Aleixos rambunctious energy. The message read: "To the Emperor's Sword. Good hunting and stay safe my brother."

Smiling at that Eddard allowed himself a few more moments of contemplation and humanity before he slipped into the role of commander. One of the techniques the Primarchs had learned was a way of compartmentalizing themselves into various roles. It helped diminish battle fatigue and centered the superhuman emotions that were a side effect of the Primarchs nature. As a commander, Eddard was no longer the noble and charming Knight of the Imperium but the ruthless and calculating Black King of War his father and species needed to win the war for survival.

Opening up a vox link to the First Legion Fleet Eddard the Commander spoke to the first legion fleet, both Astartes and mortal. "This is Primarch Eddard Fendragon, I am hailing all vessels of the First Legion."

Hundreds of thousands of souls snapped to attention and paused from labor to listen to the Primarchs words. "Today the first of many battles for humanities survival will be fought. The galaxy is a dark place, filled with terrors beyond imagination. For too long these horrors have hidden in the shadows and preyed upon our people like the vermin they are. The galaxy has become a domain darkness and fear, that shall stand no longer. In this dark galaxy, we shall be the Light!"

A Cheer burst forth from countless throats at the demigod of wars words and instantly quieted as he continued. "I met with my Father the Master of Mankind and his right hand the Sigillite earlier today. In our meeting, they honored me and this legion while simultaneously charging us with a great task. The First Legion has been selected to be the Emperor's Sword. We are to be the first among equals and the standard all will be measured against. We shall be a blade within the Emperor's hand, ready to strike down humanities foes no matter the cost."

"This Legion has been given the role of being the Emperor's will incarnate. Our duties shall be great, we must exemplify the Imperium's best in peace and obliterate its foes with utmost fury in war. We will be the first and the exemplar for what Astartes and the human species can do. Failure is not an option, I will drive myself to my very limits in service to mankind and its master. I ask my sons and our mortal comrades in arms to do the same."

As the speech ended a thunderous chant erupted of "FENDRAGON! FENDRAGON! FENDRAGON!"

With his speech concluded the First Primarch took his legion to war. At his command, the first one hundred ships of the I Legion left Terran orbit and prepared to strike against the Xeno menace. Moving with the disturbing synchronization only a Primarch guided fleet could possess the vessels formed into battle formation as they reached the Lunar Lagrangian point.

The fleets formation had similarities to both a solar system and an arrow in construction. The massive bulk of the Ty-Prydwen formed the shaft, battle-barges forming the head and the battleships of the fleet forming the fletching. Orbiting this Arrow were dozens of escorts ranging from Cruisers supplementing the boarding specialized battle-barges firepower to swarms of picket ships symbiotically flirting about the Ty-Prydwen ready to shoot down enemy missiles and attack craft.

Under the Primarchs commands the fleet moved as one. Thunderous plasma drives all working to move the vessels away from Terra and towards the Belt. Weapons teams prepped Plasma cannons, Lances, and launch bays for the coming conflict. The fleet was broadcasting various jamming signals to hide from the Q'Hrel, thankfully the Xeno's were fairly primitive and the basic anti-auger the fleet possessed was more than enough to mask themselves. The Xeno's would only know Doom was upon them when it was before their very light-sensors. By then it would be far too late for the filth.

As the fleet passed by Mars various data-bursts of the most recent Martian scans of Ceres were sent to the Legion. The only new developments it seemed were new slave-barges unloading the unfortunate humans that had been dragged into the void by the Slavers from all across Sol. They would be rescued and this domain of slavery would burn.

Soon the fleets scanners picked up the Belt. Hundreds of inhabited asteroids and proto-planets were detected and marked. Auger Probes were released in great swarms to find every last infestation of Xeno's and document every potential threat. The information was spread throughout the fleet and transmitted to the Imperial Fleet that according to the timetable should be leaving Martian orbit. They would arrive to strike the targets marked by the First Legion just as the climax of the Ceres Invasion started.

Slowly and steadily the Ty-Prydwen moved into firing position along with the rest of the fleet. The scans indicated the military strong points and command centers of Ceres. Thousands of targeting cogitators aimed the fleet's firepower at the targets and readied themselves. Taking a deep breath Eddard issued his command "Fire."


	21. Side Story: Project Results Part II

Primarch: XI Kalib Kraad

Foster World: The Labyrinth- Space Hulk that suffered extreme Warp contamination. Raised ferally with no humans or sentients on Hulk. Fought constantly against Daemonic incursions and lived off of mutated vermin.

Discovery: 18th Psychic signature detected by us and we lead a company of his legion in purging the Hulk and discovering the feral mutated Primarch. Killed a dozen of his own legion before being subdued.

Capabilities: Displayed virtual immunity to Chaos and possessed a psychotic instinctive hatred of Warpspawn and a master of eliminating them. Heavily mutated, with physical capabilities greater than most of his siblings. Mute do to Daemonic venom affecting his vocal cords.

Legion: Silent Brotherhood- a Brutal close-range combatant who inspire an extreme amount of Transhuman Dread in any humans they encounter. Mutated Omophagea that caused a craving for human flesh and blood, and empowers Legionaries who feed often and plentifully. Intensity of mutation only increased with Primarch sourced Geneseed.

Heresy: Traitor- Purged long before the Heresy when it was discovered the Legion had been cannibalizing entire human worlds populations. Attempted an unknown sorcerous ritual as the VI closed in as an attempt to escape judgment. Primarch disappeared into the warp due to Ritual and 95% of the Legion was purged by the VI Legion.

Fate: Believed to have achieved Pseudo-Daemonhood as a minor Warp deity. Currently a minor player in the Great Game that seeks to destroy both the Imperium and Chaos. Survivors of the Legion reappeared after the Great Scouring, tricked Imperium and became a now renegade Astartes Chapter.

Conclusion: Extreme Failure- Corrupted and mutated by Warp influence from birth. Displayed extreme psychological instability and a mix of both natural and warpborn insanity. His legions mutations caused the deaths of billions and even after returning to the Imperial Fold they betrayed us and worship there fallen Primarch.

* * *

Primarch: XII Angron

Foster World: Nuceria- Civilized World where ruling elite used gladiatorial combat to placate the masses. XII was discovered by a Slaver after a failed assassination attempt on him by the Eldar. Subjected to crude Cruciamen Surgery he became a star gladiator. Eventually, lead a failed slave insurrection with his fellow gladiators.

Discovery: 17th- Refused to join the Imperium and attacked Custodes and XII Legionnaires sent to negotiate. Nuceria was becoming compliant and PA8's taint was plain to see on both him and his gladiator comrades. They were not salvageable but XII was and his Legion would be broken if he was not.

Capabilities: Extreme aggression and combat capabilities originating from the Butchers Nails turned XII into a brutally effective weapon. His legion proved exemplar shock troopers and force of mass destruction. The Cruciamen Surgery robbed XII of his Superhuman intellect and strategic capability reducing him from a general and hero to a butchers tool.

Legion: World Eaters- Extremely brutal shock troops who specialized in slaughtering their enemy with extreme prejudice. Recruited from the most aggressive candidates and served originally with gruesome effectiveness. Forced into Cruciamen Surgery by XII.

Heresy: Traitor- Joined XVI in an attempt to be free and get revenge. Committed some of the worst atrocities of the war upon Ultramar along with XVIII. Was critically wounded during the so-called "Shadow Crusade" and was forcefully ascended to Daemonhood by XVIII.

Fate: Currently acts as one of PA8's champions and periodically invades the Imperium only to be banished at great cost. Legion was broken into warbands by the actions of a certain Terran Marine (See Terran Traitors) XII Legion has completely fallen to PA8 and are Cruciamen-mutilated berserkers.

Conclusion: Extreme Failure- Cruciamen Surgery had mutilated and broken him to the point of being more monster than man. Broke his Legion mind, body and soul. Desired to be free, but could never realize he was enslaved to his own past and weakness. Responsible for a truly colossal amount of death and destruction in his madness.

* * *

Primarch: Primarch XIII Roboute Guilliman

Foster World: Macragge- Civilized World and former Capital System of the Ultramarc League. Regressed into a semi-authoritarian but cohesive society. Maintained a decent technology base and was capable of low-level Warp Travel and trade with fellow former Capital Systems.

Discovery: 8th- Ruled homeworld after avenging Foster Father's death at hands of political rivals. Forged Macragge and nearby worlds into a New Ultramarc League. Gladly joined the Imperium yet kept growing his own Empire of "Ultramar"

Capabilities: Arguably the greatest analyst and organizer among the Primarchs. Excelled at planning macro-projects to the nth degree. Slightly above average combatant compared to others. More a builder and ruler of Empires then a warrior.

Legion: Ultramarines- Highly organized tactically adept Legion that specializes in adaptability and discipline. Capable of fighting with extreme synchronization despite being the largest Legion. Regimental and doctrine heavy mindset can cause issues if lacking a leader capable of adapting to the situation.

Heresy: Loyal- Believed Terra had fallen and sequestered themselves in Ultramar and were sealed off from the rest of the Galaxy by the Ruin/Storm phenomena. Formed the Imperium Secundus with I and IX. Eventually helped lift the Siege of Terra after the Duel.

Fate: Crippled in duel with III and placed in Stasis. Rebuilt the Imperium post-scouring in order to try and prevent another Heresy class event. Invented and championed the implementation of the Chapter System.

Conclusion: Semi-Successful- Proved to be one of the most psychologically stable Primarchs who helped salvage the Imperium post-heresy. Displayed a possibly neurotic propensity to order and organization that caused rifts with some Primarchs.

* * *

Primarch: XIV Mortarion

Foster World: Barburus- Slave World ruled by PA7 corrupted Xenos. Toxic fog covered it and sheltered the Xenos in their high altitude kingdoms. XIV was raised by the chieftain of these Xenos and was warped physically and mentally by the toxins and abuse.

Discovery: 13th- escaped his Xeno captor and started a rebellion. Met with him and noticed hints of corruption, issued challenge to analyze psych profile and capabilities. Failed but did not display corruption. Spent time on Terra and showed psychological instability.

Capabilities: Extreme regenerative capabilities beyond other Primarchs and unrivaled bio-adaptation abilities related to toxins and detrimental environments. Lacked martial skill and strategic capabilities compared to siblings and used extreme regenerative abilities and strength.

Legion: Deathguard- Massed infantry specialists who relied on numbers, sheer endurance and biochemical WMD's to best foes. Very useful in toxic or contaminated environments. Organized in massive Great Companies.

Heresy: Traitor- Declared for Horus quickly and proved to be one of XVI's key generals. Experimented with Warp Craft on multiple occasions despite his hatred of it, in order to bind or destroy Warp-phenomena. Legion fleet betrayed by First captain (See Calas Typhon) and became thralls of PA7

Fate: Atypically independent God-Thrall that rules over vast stretches of the Eldars Folly. Legion divided between his followers and those of his first captain. Ironically appears to have become a twisted mimicry of the Xeno who adopted him.

Conclusion: Failure- His Armor of Contempt was mutated by his experiences on Barbarus into a paranoid hatred of anything he viewed as Warp-Tainted. (justly or unjustly) As unstable as VIII and XII yet better at hiding it. Severe physical and psychological ailments plagued him thanks toBarburus.

* * *

Primarch: XV Magnus the Red.

Foster World: Prospero- Civilized World settled by Exiles fleeing the Psi-Wars of Terra. Plagued by Warp-Parasites that Magnus lead the extermination of. Prospero was rebuilt by XV as a place of culture and learning where its Psyker population could live in peace.

Discovery: 9th, Psychically detected traveling the Immaterium in a reckless fashion. Joined peacefully and given warning of the Warp. Attempted to solve Legions mutation and made a bargain with PA9, lost an Eye and became marked as property by the Warp Entity.

Capabilities: Alpha Plus Psyker of extreme power and control. One of the greatest intellects of the Primarchs with a thirst for knowledge both practical and theoretical. Extremely arrogant due to powers and ignored warnings. Possesed the capabilities but not the aptitude to become the Throne-Lord.

Legion: Thousand Sons- Geneseed enhances existing psychic potential and can unlock dormant sensitivity. Suffered from extreme mutation related to Warp-Corruption. Stabilised by XV and began to master Warp-Craft. Bound hostile Warp Entities to themselves and engaged in Sorcery

Heresy: Loyal/Traitor Discovered XVI's corruption and attempted to prove merits of Sorcery by contacting us on the Throne, his Psi-signature allowed him to puncture the wards and rip open the Throne-Gate. VI sent to apprehend him in order to have another Gate-Holder. XVI's tampering and VI's errors caused calamity (See Burning of Prospero)

Fate: Psyche shattered by ritual on Prospero, 65% of original Soul fused with PA9's power to create a God-Thrall known as the Crimson King. The remaining 35% either fused with our Oversoul or became the core of the First Lord of Titan.

Conclusion: Extreme Failure- Despite or maybe because his many gifts he displayed worrying egotistical tendencies while being overconfident in his knowledge and power. Refused our advice, became bound to PA9 and was used to ruin the primary golden path.

 _*Our Lord of Ways... Ended our path... irony... Only by our blood...could they ruin the gate*_

* * *

Primarch: XVI Horus Lupercal

Foster World: Cthonia- Mining/Feral World stripped of all resources and home to vicious tunnel gangs that brawled over the planets Scraps. Brutal conditions and nearness to Terra allowed for excellent Astartes recruits of Genetics close to Terran Standard. Early expedition fleets harvested Chthonian gangers as Legion stock and an adolescent XVI was discovered.

Discovery: XVI was biologically three years old and appeared a human male approximately 6-9 years in age. Discovered quickly and was personally tutored and trained by us. Served by our side along till VI was discovered and at first seemed the perfect proof of concept for the Primarchs.

Capabilities: Under out tutoring he mastered every science and skill to learn and displayed a Charisma and social Intellect outstripping most of his siblings which allowed him to enthrall those weaker than him and befriend his brothers. One of the most martially skilled Primarchs excelling in decapitation strategy.

Legion: Luna Wolves/Sons of Horus/Black Legion- The Geneseed of XVI was one of the most potent lines further enhanced by XVI's latent psychic abilities and possessed far larger numbers of Gene-synced Legionnaires including arguably the greatest successes of Lineage syncing and future leader of the reformed XVI Legion Ezekyle Abaddon. Preferred flexibility and command structure elimination tactics.

Heresy: Loyal/Traitor- Was poisoned by Kinebatch weapon-host containing the Elder Neverborn known as Bruticai. While crippled by the Weapon a ritual lead by the Dark Chaplain Erebus reprogramed his mind and soul to have him start a Rebellion against us under the control of the Warp.

Fate: Was put down during the Siege of Terra after we cast aside our newly reclaimed humanity and struck against the Four through his conduit to them. His Soul was erased to save him from further Chaotic predations and attempts to clone him were stopped by the Thralls of Imperious.

Conclusion: Failure- Showed incredible promise and capabilities yet displayed numerous personality flaws related to egotism and abandonment that provided the chinks in his armor the Warp could infiltrate. Should have died a Legend instead of living to become an abomination.

* * *

Primarch: XVII Lorgar Aurelian

Foster World: Colchis- Feudal Arid world that managed to survive the Old Night by making pacts with Warp Entities. Regressed from its Industrial history into zealotry and barbarism. Primordial Annihilator Thrall-Cults made up the State religion.

Discovery: 14th- Uncontrolled Psychic powers allowed XVII to predict our arrival and interpreted it as a "Divine" message. Lead a religious war against the prime Colchisian cult and won through charisma and dogma instead of martial skill or strategy. We initially believed his purging of his home-worlds taint and enthusiastic loyalty to us were signs of XVII resisting corruption like I. We were extremely mistaken.

Capabilities: Never refined his martial capabilities and seemed opposed to learning military tactics and skills. Preferred to use his Charisma, both psychic and natural to win battles. Formidable Psychic powers that were further enhanced by Warp-Corruption. Naturally dogmatic and a true believer in his cause, showed remarkable manipulative and social engineering talent.

Legion: Word Bearers: Extremely fanatical, to an unhealthy degree. Would die or worse for their cause. Hyper-Sensitive to XVII charisma. Started as our Anti-cult force, with their neural programming keeping them strict followers of the Imperial Truth. Once converted by XVII they became Religious Zealots of the worst kind would commit unnecessary atrocities to feed the Pantheon.

Heresy: Refused multiple messages, summons, and warnings to discontinue conversion of worlds to a doctrine worshiping us. Eventually, we were forced to castigate him and it became apparent XVII had been corrupted since theft and was a serious security risk. Our attempts to minimize fallout were partially successful and he was designated as one of the Acceptable Losses.

Fate: After orchestrating the Consumption of XII by PA8, the Heresy War and accidentally creating the Imperial Cult XVII retreated into the Eldars Folly. Has delved deeper into the Warp and become utterly engrossed in the Warps corruption and pays little attention to the Material Realm.

Conclusion: Extreme Failure- Should have been euthanized at Monarchia. Our hopes to give XVII a chance to redeem itself and fulfill its potential were destroyed. Indoctrinated by the Primordial Annihilator pathetically easily, XVII willingly sacrificed its sons and the galaxy to the Warp.

* * *

Primarch: XVIII Vulkan

Foster World: Nocturne - A Volcanic Death World settled by a group of genetically modified Pacifists during the Golden Age. Part of a binary with its oversized moon Prometheus. The Gravitational interplay between the twin bodies causes extreme tectonic instability on Nocturne. The Wildlife was almost as equally dangerous as the environment and the people learned to survive this harsh world within their Sanctuary Cities.

Discovery: 6th - Was one of the three that required us to best them in competition. We used it as an opportunity to test XVIII's physical and intellectual skills. We considered allowing XVIII to fail the last test and perish in order to activate his abilities. Decided to save him to ensure loyalty.

Capabilities: One of the most physically powerful Primarch. Possessing endurance, durability, and strength virtually unmatched among the others. Slightly slower and more ponderous in comparison to projected baseline. Most likely side effect of upbringing on high Gravity death world. Extremely inventive with fundamental knowledge inbuilt into him. High morality and ethics thanks to genetic and cultural factors. Perfect for our purposes.

Legion: Salamanders: Durable, loyal and inventive as their gene-father. Served with distinction during both Crusade and Unification. Almost wiped out due to extensive casualties before XVIII was found and again during the Drop Site Massacre. Survive to this day and serve with distinction and atypical compassion.

Heresy: Was one of the three Loyal Primarchs betrayed at the Drop Site Massacre. Was captured by VIII and tortured into insanity. Managed to escape to Ultramar and was kept by XIII at his Contingency Empire. Was seemingly killed by the Cabals plots but the use of the Fulgurite allowed us to extend our influence on him and craft our contingencies.

Fate: After assisting in the Destruction of a Beast class WAAAGH he made his way back to the Imperial Palace and awaits the day the Terminus Decree is used. If such an event does occur the Artifacts of Vulkan if gathered together can be used to summon him from Terra's ashes to lead humanity.

Conclusion: Success- Was created as a contingency and tool to not only preserve the human species but its humanity. As solid as the Old Earth the kindest soul is prepared to do great evil and good if it means the survival of our people.

* * *

Primarch: XIX Corvus Corax

Foster World: Deliverance/Lycaeus- Mineral Rich Moon of Forge world Kiavahr. Populated by mining slaves who adopted XIX upon his arrival. Raised him to be their revolutionary Leader and liberator. Succeeded in this endeavor and broke the Tech-Clan enslavers.

Discovery: 19th- Our expedition fleet arrived in the Kiavahr system almost immediately after the end of XIX's revolution. Meeting went well with XIX seeing our physical body. Unification with legion occurred sub-par. XIX rebuilt his legion from the ground up to better favor his tactical skills and to purge undesirable elements.

Capabilities: Intelligent and observant XIX personified the skill set and personality types adept at stealth and shadow operations. Inherited our psychic ability to erase our presence, which was passed along his Gene-line to a certain extent. Extremely introspective and excellent at observing the true nature of things.

Legion: Raven Guard: Like their gene-source the XIXth Legion operated with efficiency, stealth, and precision. While never a particularly large Legion the Raven Guard was extremely effective at destroying non-compliant governments and liberating enslaved humans. Noted to generally, have atypical moral centers due to the more flexible Astartes being exiled to a number of unsanctioned successors.

Heresy: Loyal: Suffered horrifically at the Drop Site Massacre, the vast majority of the XIX Legion was wiped out and XIX himself was gravely wounded. Fears related to the true nature of the Primarchs caused a psychological crisis that was further exacerbated by a failed rebuilding of his legion using our knowledge. Spent the latter years of the Heresy running guerrilla campaigns against Traitor supply lines with his mutant Astartes acting as shock-troopers.

Fate: Post-heresy he supported XIII's reforms and returned to his homeworld to euthanize the mutant Raven Guard Astartes. This finally caused XIX's psychological breakdown. Fled into the Warp in an attempt to redeem himself. Unlocked his full warp-born potential and exists as an icon of fear for the Traitors to this day. This Crow-King warp-monster and the myths of VIII are the inspiration for the Raptor-God minor warp-deity.

Conclusion: Semi-Successful: Competent in his skill set and willing to do what was necessary to protect the Imperium. XIX's strong moral compass allowed him to be an effective leader and liberator of humanity, it also spelled his downfall. While he possessed the skills and nature to make difficult decisions his morality made living with the necessary evil far too straining on his psyche.

* * *

Primarch: Alpharius Omegon

Foster World: *DATA CORRUPTED*

Discovery: *DATA CORRUPTED*/20th: *DATA CORRUPTED*

Capabilities: Masters of espionage, counterespionage, and sabotage. The XX's were masters of unconventional warfare and could destroy a civilization without the use of a single weapon. Possessed a psychic link between the two that helped them keep in touch with each other, and this link could be used to empower Legionaries to impersonate them. Physically less powerful than their siblings the XX's relied on their intellect and planning skills over martial capabilities.

Legion: Alpha Legion: Heavily compartmentalized with squads trained to work as independent units. Larger than average Astartes to allow their Primarchs to mask as them. Sleeper cells of XX Legionaries present in all other legions. Stealth operations supplemented with Human auxilla operatives. When forced into open combat shock and awe tactics were favored by the XX Legion.

Heresy: *DATA CORRUPTED*: Legion and Primarchs both acted in the interest of both sides of the Heresy at various points. Believed to be influenced by a Xeno organization known as the Cabal, but the truth of the matter is obscured from our sight. Tested Sol's defense during the battle of Pluto and eventually lost control of the Legion by the Ullanor Muster of Horus.

Fate: XX-1 was executed for treachery in combat during the Battle of Pluto. XX-2 continued to "lead" the Alpha Legion until *DATA CORRUPTED*

Conclusion: Success: *DATA CORRUPTED*


	22. Side Story: The Legio Astartes

**The Legio Astartes**

"They are my bulwark against the Terror. They are the Defenders of Humanity. They are my Space Marines and they shall know no fear."

* * *

 **Crusader Fleets and Expedition Fleets**  
 **  
Crusader Fleets** \- The vast majority of the Legio Astartes are organized in Twenty massive forces known as the Crusader Fleets. Containing 80-90% of all Astartes in a Legion each Crusader Fleet acts as an unparalleled military force capable of waging war against any Xeno or Noncompliant Empire.

Commanded by a Primarch each Fleet is supported by multiple Titan Legions, Imperial Auxilla Regiments, and Iterator Courts. With the Legio Astartes forming the main fighting force and backbone of Crusade Fleet.

The purpose and goal of each Crusade Fleet is to eliminate major threats to the Imperium. A list of high-priority targets compiled by the Emperor was presented to each Primarch at the start of the Crusade. The lists are unique to the Primarch they were given too and the foes detailed within would fall to that Primarchs and their legions talents.

Each Crusader Fleet numbers in the hundreds of vessels, from titanic Gloriana Flagships to swarms of small escort crafts. Millions of Humans live and work in the fleet. This number includes the Fleets Legion. The Legion is required to maintain at least 500,000 Battle-Brothers and if casualties dip the number below that reinforcements from Expedition fleets will be called in.

Periodically Crusader Astartes will be deployed to Expedition fleets and vice versa. This helps prevent complacency, overtaxed forces, and intra-legion rifts. These periodic changes help disrupt the formation of possibly corrupting secret-societies and helps forge positive bonds between Astartes and baseline humans.

Organized into Ten specialized Super-Formations with unique names in each Legion the Crusader Astartes are capable of mobilizing and organizing successfully hundreds of thousands and in some cases millions of Astartes in a single battle. The Super-Formations are designed to specialize in a certain type of warfare and depending on a Legions own specialty some might be far larger than others.

 **Expedition Fleets** \- Far smaller and far more numerous than the Crusader Fleets the Expedition Fleets exist as the Imperium's primary Unification force. Composed of Martian Explorators, Imperial Auxilia, Iraetor Courts and a token Astartes Force the Expedition Fleets are meant for exploration and diplomacy.

Expedition Fleets form the third wave of Imperial expansion. First Rogue Traders who often time are involved with the fleets survey and scout a galactic region. The Crusader Fleets then eliminate any major threats in the region. The Expedition fleets than mop up any lesser dangers establish contact with the region's cultures and work to integrate them into the Imperium. Expedition Fleets also give the all clear for civilian vessels from Colony ships too Mining Charters to use new Imperial Space.

Crusader Fleets are typically accompanied by several Expedition Fleets when operating between Crusade-Fronts. It is not uncommon for some of the more politically minded Primarchs too bring their Fleet during combat lulls or periods of repair and refit along with Expeditions. To help ease negotiations and tour the growing Imperium.

Unlike Crusader Fleets that are commanded by a Primarch, an expedition fleet is commanded by a human commander. These Expedition Captains as they are called are often minor Imperial celebrities and are often recruited from Terran noble houses and Auxilia officer corps. To get this command strong force of will along with extreme competence is required. They are one of the few non-Astartes that can give orders to the Emperors Angels of Death.

Each Expedition Fleet is garrisoned with a contingent of Astartes. The size of this garrison ranges from 200 to 20,000 depending on the size of the Expedition fleet and the hostility of the space they are traveling. The reason for this particular number is representatives of all twenty Legions are required in each fleet. Ranging from a single Squad to an entire Chapter.

* * *

 **Rank**  
(This is a generalized system with sub-ranks and specialty ranks existing in various Legions. Such as Marshal-Lieutenants, Chapter Commander, etc)

 _Neophyte_ \- An Astartes in training. Lacking some Implants but combat ready. Organized into Training companies presided over by Scout Sergeants. Training companies duties depend on Legion. Ranging from scout work to being apprenticed under a Battle-Brother.

 _Battle Brother-_ Rank and File Astartes that have completed their Training and assigned to a Super-Formation. Organized into Ten Man squads that act as a close-knit unit. Some battle brothers with particular talents are removed from the normal chain of command and become a Specialist that exist outside of typical squad command.

 _Marshal-Sergeant_ \- Officer and leader of a Battle-Brother Squad. Typically the eldest of the Squad with the most experience. The Veterans of hundreds of battles a Marshal-Sergeant will be sometimes be reassigned to train Neophytes as a Scout-Sergeant.

C _aptain_ \- Officer of a Hundred Battle-Brother strong Company. Each is a skilled commander capable of making independent decisions and leading a company into battle. Captains are also the lowest rank capable of commanding a vessel or an Expedition Contingent. If less than a company of each legion is deployed to an Expedition Fleet a Captain will be selected to have operational command over all the Astartes.

 _Chapter Master_ \- Elite officers who are in charge of commanding ten companies and all required support staff. These are the commanders of the Legio Astartes who direct battles and command respect. Chapter Masters are typically elected by a Chapters Captains but it's not unheard of them being appointed by higher-ups in times of emergency.

 _Lord Commander_ \- The Generals of the Legio Astartes, they command Cohorts and excel at getting multiple Super-Formations to work together in unison. Trusted by their Primarch with command over an entire theater of operations.

 _Battlemaster_ \- Handpicked by the Legions Primarch to lead a Super-Formation. These Space Marines are absolute masters of a certain type of warfare.

 _Primarch_ \- The Gene Father and absolute commander of a legion. Second only to the Emperor himself in military matters.

* * *

 **Basic Combat Organization**

 **Squadron-** A Space Marine squad is composed of nine battle brothers and a Sergeant. The Astartes fight together as a unit and will fight and die for each other. Squads can either be specialist squads consisting of a single loadout or diversified squads of varying loadouts.

 **Company** \- Composed of ten squads, twenty support Astartes, and a Captain. Form the basic combat force of an Astartes and are designed to be equally effective operating independently or part of a larger force. A Company is trained to be able to rapidly shift from self-sufficient commando force to specialized military battalion. As such Companies are typically formed of squads with similar and complementary skills.

 **Chapter** \- Ten Companies and support ranging from Armor columns to assigned Auxilia Regiments form a Legio Astartes Chapter. Similar to the companies that compose them Chapters are meant to be able to operate as independent armies or part of a specialized formation. Chapters typically are given nicknames based on their unique characteristics and specialties.

 **Cohort** \- Five to fifty Chapters of Astartes working together as a single army. Typically composed of multiple super-formation Chapters working in concert to support each other. In rare cases, a Cohort of a single Super-Formation may be deployed as needed though. A Cohort forms a theatre of operations for an Astartes Legion and its size varies on the intensity and importance of said conflict.

 **Super Formation** \- A large number of specialized Chapters unified together into a single Legion-wide formation. Can be deployed in its entirety under a Battlemaster with Lord Commander lieutenant or in part under an appointed Lord Commander Designed to operate on massive battlefields against millions of foes the Super-Formations allow the skills of its Legion to be used to its fullest. While smaller deployments are designed to be both special forces and part of a larger army the Super-Formations are meant to fight solely as part of a legion, reliant on other Formations and much more specialized.

* * *

 **The Super-Formations**

 **The First Formation** - **Elites** Amazingly skilled warriors selected for the most difficult duties and missions. Unlike the other formations, they are not assigned from training but are elevated to the First Formation after displays of martial skill, valor and legion values. Armed and equipped with the finest wargear available to the Legion masters of every skill set used in legion make up the First Formation. In combat, the First Formation is often used as an elite strike force to turn the tide of a battle or end it decisively. Out of combat they often have the duty of forming honor guards and attending diplomatic functions as a demonstration of Imperial force. The Astartes of the first formation are the most likely to fight alongside their Primarch, and typically two to three chapters of this formation are always deployed alongside their genefather.

 **The Second Formation** - **Warsuits.** Each member is armored head to toe in Advanced Power Armor. Smaller than most other Formations due to limited numbers of tactical dreadnought armor, Centurion suits, and Dreadknights. Specialize in wading into the thickest of the fighting to inflict and take massive amounts of damage. Heavily armed and armored for spear tip strikes and frontal assaults. The Second Formation is deployed in two manners. In units of heavy shock troopers or single troops deployed within other formations to provide support.

 **The Third Formation** \- **Fast Attack**. Composed of Bike Cavalry and Jetpack specialists the Third Formation strikes hard and fast. Prizing mobility and efficiency the third Formation's duties is to start a battle on the Imperiums terms and keep the enemy formation broken. Fast Attack war-bikes and Jet-Bikes typically form a lighting fast blitz-force capable of ripping through the enemy line and opening them up to further attacks. The Jump Infantry of the Third Formation is sometimes deployed alongside their cavalry brothers to decimate disoriented pockets of enemies. At other times they are deployed piecemeal throughout the battle to act as fast-moving reinforcements to patch breaks in the battle-lines or harass enemy flanks.

 **The Fourth Formation** \- **Armored Assault.** The Fourth Formation operates the armored transports and tanks of the Legion. Transporting troops to the front lines and using the crushing power of heavy tanks to break the enemy are the duties of the Fourth formation. Each legions fleet of battle tanks, APC's and skimmers is operated by the Fourth Formation to great effect. Some of the more mechanized Legions like the IV and X boast massive numbers of these vehicles and equally large Fourth Formations to operate them. Different Legions prefer to use the Fourth Formation in unique ways. Some prefer the armored tank-lines be used independently to engage a blitzkrieg strategy. Others prefer the more reliable force multiplying effect of them supporting infantry.

 **The Fifth Formation** \- **Basic Infantry**. Almost always the largest Formation the Basic Infantry form the core of a Legion. These are the battle-brothers holding the line and doing the majority of the fighting. Composed of Astartes lacking the skills or interest to join one of the more specialized formations the Fifth Formation is known for being more adaptable and more efficient than its siblings. Where other formations might win a battle the Basic Infantry wins Wars. Equipped similarly to expedition fleet chapters they wield Standard Issue weapons, armor, and equipment. This formations squads similar to a Chapters can share a single loadout or have more diversified one's per battle-brother and war-zone need.

 **The Sixth Formation** \- **Close Quarter Combat**. Brutal warriors whose Modus operandi involves getting into the thickest of the fighting and reaping a grim toll upon the foe. By nature of their role, the Sixth Formation suffers higher casualties than virtually any other on average. This is counterbalanced by its atypical recruitment numbers. Many young battle-brothers seek to bloody themselves up close to the xeno-hordes. This is also the reason it is one of the most transferred out of formations. Veterans typically mature past their bloodlust and seek to serve the Imperium in other ways. Typically work closely with the Fifth Formation in holding the front lines.

 **The Seventh Formation** \- **Destroyers**. The grimmest and most brutal Formation the Seventh hold the combat role of heavy weapon and total warfare specialists. Collateral damage is an inevitable part of warfare. The other formations acknowledge this and seek to minimize it, this is not the case with the Seventh. Extremely destructive weaponry and relentless extermination are the duties of this formation. Like the second formation, they are typically deployed piecemeal throughout other formations to support them with overwhelming firepower and for the other formation to keep them in check. In the rare cases where the raw annihilating power of the Seventh is needed in its entirety, they can assemble and reduce cities to ash.

 **The Eighth Formation** \- **Void Specialists**. Legio Astartes translates to Legion of the Stars, this is the origin of the coequal civilian term for the Emperors Angels: The Space Marines. Void warfare is a brutal unforgiving practice that the Eighth Formation is designed to handle. Divided into two rough sub-formations the Eighth form both a Legions pilots for their transport and attack crafts, while also performing boarding operations. Either piloting a Stormbird, or marching through an enemy vessel hallway stormshield in hand the Eighth Formation ensure the Imperium alone is master of the Void. The Armor and weapons of the Eighth Formation are designed to allow effective fighting in the confines of Voidships and surviving the dangers of collapsing vessels and the unforgiving void.

 **The Ninth Formation** \- **Defensive Warfare**. War is Hell, the Ninth Formation know that better than most and are meant to not only survive but thrive in that environment. The building and garrisoning of Fortresses falls to the Ninth Formation. Attrition warfare, artillery and defending a Legions supply lines also fall under the Ninth formations purview. This leads to a somber and pragmatic attitude to these heavily armed and armored battle brothers. While other formations may capture territory the Ninth ensures they keep that territory.

 **The Tenth Formation** \- **Specialists and Logistics**. Not so much a single formation but a blanket term to cover and classify the countless specialists and support-Astartes that operate inside a Legion. These include the Libarius, Chaplaincy Corp, Tech-Marines, Apothecaries, Emperors Talons detachment, Silver Order Detachment, Muster Chiefs, Scouts and the neophytes. The training and recruitment of new Astartes for the Legion falls under the Tenth Formations duties. Once they finish their training in the Tenth they are assigned to another formation or expedition fleet.

* * *

 **Gene-Seed**

Of all the Transhuman abilities that empower the Emperor's sons, one stands above the others. The Legion-Forge organ of the Primarchs saturates the Primarchs bloodstream with proto-prognoids. These can be extracted and cultivated into Gene-Seed. A series of psycho-genetic implants that transform a baseline human into a physically, genetically and spiritually superhuman warrior. The Implant series augments the mortal's physical body to levels only matched by the greatest Gene-Warriors of the Golden Age. Their genome is subtly reprogrammed to better resist the horrors of the cosmos and allow the Astartes body to use the implants successfully. Their very soul is strengthened and linked to their Primarch and the Emperor himself in a minute way.

Only baseline or class-A mutants possessing an XY chromosome can undergo the transformation. The chances of success are directly related to the genetic and psychological makeup of the initiate. Different strains of Geneseed have different compatibility with different phenotypes and cultures. With applicants whose background correlates to that Primarchs gene and spiritual aspect having better odds.

There are a number of phenomena related to Astartes gene-seed that only occur in rare cases. Overshadowing as it is known is the most common of these phenomena and will typically occur to most Astartes over their lifetime. The physical traits of there Primarch will start to replace the Astartes original features. All Astartes experience this to a certain extent when they are forged and it usually intensifies with age. Some Legions like the III and XVI experience much more intensely than others. Gene-syncing is the other and much rarer phenoanaoma. Very few individuals with unique genetic and psychic affinity to the geneseed will undergo this effect. The Geneseed, in essence, is better accepted and incorporated into their biology at such a level they become something more than an Astartes and more like a lesser version of their Primarch.

 **The Organs**

Second Heart- This simplest and most self-sufficient of implants allows a Space Marine to survive his other heart being damaged or destroyed, and to survive in low oxygen environments. Not just a back-up, the secondary heart can boost the blood-flow around the Marine's body.

Ossmodula- A small, complex, tubular organ, the ossmodula secretes hormones that both affect the ossification of the skeleton and encourages the forming bone growths to absorb ceramic-based chemicals that are laced into the Marine's diet.[1][2a][3] This drastically alters the way a Space Marine's bones grow and develop. Two years after this implant is first put in the subject's long bones will have increased in size and strength (along with most other bones), and the rib cage will have been fused into a solid mass of bulletproof, interlocking plates.

Biscopea- This small, circular organ is inserted into the chest cavity and releases hormones that vastly increase muscle growth throughout the marine's body. It also serves to form the hormonal basis for many of the later implants.

Sinew Coils- Known as the Steel Within, the Space Marne's sinews are reinforced with durametallic coil-cables that contract with incredible force, magnifying the subjects strength beyond that of a regular Space Marine and giving another layer of interior defense.

Magnificat- this small thumbnail-sized lobe is inserted into the brain's core. The implant secretes hormones that increase the body's growth functions while also intensifying its advanced systems, especially for the ossmodula and biscopea. In truth, this implant is but half of the true, dual-valve immmortis gland (the "God-Maker") which the Emperor made for the Primarchs.

Revitalizer- his dormant organ connects to both hearts. In times of extreme stress or trauma, it expels self-manufactured chemical similar to combat stimms that also aids in regeneration. After activation the gland will fall dormant again, taking some time to build up itself for activation once more

Haemastamen- Implanted into the main circulatory system, this tiny implant not only increases the haemoglobin content of the subject's blood, making it more efficient at carrying oxygen around the body and making the subject's blood a bright red.

Larraman's Organ- A liver-shaped organ about the size of a golf-ball, this implant is placed within the chest cavity and connected to the circulatory system. It generates and controls 'Larraman cells' which are released into the bloodstream if the recipient is wounded. They attach themselves to leucocytes in the blood and are carried to the site of the wound, whereupon contact with air they form a near instant patch of scar tissue, sealing any wounds the Space Marine may suffer.

Catalepsean Node- Implanted into the back of the brain, this pea-sized organ influences the circadian rhythms of sleep and the body's response to sleep deprivation. If deprived of sleep, the catalepsean node cuts in. The node allows a Marine to sleep and remain awake at the same time by switching off areas of his brain sequentially. This process cannot replace sleep entirely but increases the Marines survivability by allowing perception of the environment while resting[1][2a][3]. This means that a Space Marine needs no more than 4 hours of sleep a day, and can potentially go for 2 weeks without any sleep at all

Dohrnii Drive- A small gland inserted into the brain stem. It stays dormant for the rest of an Astartes creation and is only activated with certain hormonal signatures once the Astartes reaches full maturity. Once activated it secretes a mapping-polymer that forms a non-interfering coat upon the Space Marines nerves. The polymer transmits the neural patterns and activity back to the Dohrnii Drive where the information is stored along with other biological data intercepted from the brain stream. If the nerves or tissues coated by the Drive are damaged it will use the saved data to assist the Astartes healing process in restoring them to peak condition. This allows an Astartes with sufficient time and nutrients to heal from even the most grievous wounds as long as the Dohrnii Drive and brainstem remain intact.

Preomnor- Is essentially a pre-stomach that can neutralize otherwise poisonous or indigestible foods. No actual digestion takes place in the preomnor, as it acts as a decontamination chamber placed before the natural stomach in the body's system and can be isolated from the rest of the digestive tract in order to contain particularly troublesome intake. This intake is then purified allowing the Astartes to gain nutrients from even the most unexpected sources.

Omophagea- allows a Space Marine to 'learn by eating'. It is situated in the spinal cord but is actually part of the brain. Four nerve bundles are implanted connecting the spine and the stomach wall. Able to 'read' or absorb genetic material consumed by the marine, the omophagea transmits the gained information to the Marine's brain as a set of memories or experiences. It also helps assists form the Astartes eidetic memory.

Multi-lung- This additional lung activates when a Space Marine needs to breathe in low-oxygen or poisoned atmospheres, and even water. The natural lungs are closed off by a sphincter muscle associated with the multi-lung and the implanted organ takes over breathing operations. It has highly efficient toxin dispersal systems

Occulobe- This implant sits at the base of the brain, and provides hormonal and genetic stimuli which enable a Marine's eyes to respond to optic-therapy. This, in turn, allows the Apothecaries to make adjustments to the growth patterns of the eye and the light-receptive retinal cells - the result being that Space Marines have far superior vision to normal humans, and can see in low-light conditions almost as well as in daylight

Lyman's Ear- Not only does this implant make a Space Marine immune from dizziness or motion sickness but also allows Space Marines to consciously filter out and enhance certain sounds. The Lyman's Ear completely replaces a Marine's original ear. It is externally indistinguishable from a normal human ear.

Sus-an Membrane- Initially implanted above the brain, this membrane eventually merges with the recipient's entire brain. Ineffective without follow-up chemical therapy and training, but with sufficient training a Space Marine can use this implant to enter a state of suspended animation, consciously or as an automatic reaction to extreme trauma, keeping the Marine alive for years, even if he has suffered otherwise mortal wounds. Only the appropriate chemical therapy or auto-suggestion can revive a Marine from this state. Linked to the Dohrnii Drive to start the process of extreme regeneration while in suspended animation.

Melanchromic Organ- This implant controls the amount of melanin in a Marine's skin. Exposure to high levels of sunlight will result in the Marine's skin darkening to compensate. It also protects the Marine from other forms of radiation

Oolitic Kidney- In conjunction with the secondary heart, this implant allows a Space Marine to filter his blood very quickly, rendering him immune to most poisons. This action comes at a price, however, as this emergency detoxification usually renders the Marine unconscious while his blood is circulated at high speed. The organ's everyday function is to monitor the entire circulatory system and allow other organs to function effectively

Neuroglottis- This enhances a Space Marine's sense of taste to such a high degree that he can identify many common chemicals by taste alone. A Marine can even track down his target by taste and smell.

Mucranoid- This implant allows a Space Marine to sweat a substance that coats the skin and offers resistance to extreme heat and cold and can even provide some protection for the marine in a vacuum.

Betcher's Gland- Consists of two identical glands, implanted either into the lower lip, alongside the salivary glands or into the hard palette. The gland works in a similar way to the poison gland of venomous reptiles by synthesizing and storing deadly poison, which the Marines themselves are immune to due to the gland's presence. This allows a Space Marine to spit a blinding contact poison. The poison is also corrosive and can even burn away strong metals given sufficient time.

Progenoids- here are two of these glands, one situated in the neck and the other within the chest cavity. These glands are vitally important and represent the future of the Legion, as the only way new gene-seed can be produced is by reproducing it within the bodies of the Marines themselves. This is the implant's only purpose. The glands absorb genetic material from the other implanted organs. When they have matured each gland will have developed a single gene-seed corresponding to each of the zygotes which have been implanted into the Marine. The Neck Progenoid can be harvested every five years but the chest one is only harvestable one at Death.

Black Carapace- The most distinctive implant, it resembles a film of black plastic that is implanted directly beneath the skin of the Marine's torso in sheets. It hardens on the outside and sends invasive neural bundles into the Marine's body. After the organ has matured the recipient is then fitted with neural sensors and interface points cut into the carapace's surface. This allows a Space Marine to interface directly with his Power Armour. Without the Black Carapace, many of the systems of the power armour will not function. While driving the vehicles of the Chapter, special spinal interface plugged into power armour and Black Carapace to provide the Space Marine an intuitive 'feel' for vehicles systems and controls, literally making him a part of his vehicle

Legion Unique Organ- each Gene-line possess a unique Organ that further enhances that lineages specialties. The time of implantation varies with the organ. The organs are based on the unique augmentations of each Primarch possess and allows the Astartes to tap into the smallest bit of their Primarchs incredible abilities.

* * *

 **Specialty Astartes**

 _The Librarius_

Psychic powers are one of the more dangerous and powerful tools available to the Legions. Astartes initiates who display Psychic potential are drafted into the Librarius once their basic training finishes. To better protect them from the Warps influence each new Acolytum (apprentice Librarian) is psychically bonded to the highest ranking present Librarian. Helping create a chain of souls from the Chief Librarian all the way to the freshest recruit. This allows the Librarians of the Legio Astartes to better resist the warps taint and draw upon experience and power of their seniors.

The Librarius is typically treated with wary respect by the rest of the legions for the powers they wield are great and so are the dangers they face. Some legions have larger Librarius simply due to Gene-Seed perculities. These include the XV which is almost entirely psychically active and the IX which possesses a Legion wide psychic connection. When a new Chief Librarian is selected by the Legions Primarch they are ritually bound with a drop of the Primarchs blood, making the Legions soul-chain far more resistant to the taint of Chaos.

The Libarius is subdivided into various orders of Psychic specialties. Librarians like all psykers tend to gravitate to a certain type of warp-manipulation. The Basic Schools of the Libarius are as such. The Order of Force that specializes in the manipulation of the elements and matter via telekinesis, pyrokinesis and their kin arts. The Order of the Mind deals with the manipulation of minds and bodies. This includes telepathy, biokinesis, and technopathy. Lastly is the Order of Souls which teaches the arts of Divination, Runes, and Sanctic Daemonology. Battle-Brothers of the Libariaus have their armor marked to indicate the arts they specialize in.

 _The Chaplaincy Corps_

Astartes may be superhuman but they are indeed at their core human. As such mortal failings and the stress of war can affect even them. It is the duty of the Chaplaincy Corps to help their battle-brothers in these times of need. Charismatic and wise the Chaplains provide guidance and counsel to their brothers off the battlefield, and righteous fury an unshakable resolve to aspire too on the battlefield.

One of the duties of the Chaplaincy is to oversee the social activities and off-duty conduct of Astartes. Most legions possess some sort of internal organization for bonding and decompression. The Chaplains ensure these organizations stay within Imperial guidelines and do not act as corrupters. Astartes who are corrupted by Warp or Xeno taint are also the duty of the Chaplains, be it overseeing their redemption or leading Euthanizer-Squads to hunt down the traitors.

 _Tech Marines_

Those with particular mechanical talent are drafted into the Tech Marines. Here Astartes are instructed by the Tech-Priests of Mars on the proper maintenance, and manufacturing of the Legions equipment. The Armor and Weapons of a Legion are typically built at Forge Worlds but are modified and upgraded to a Legions specifics by the Tech Marines. More unique artifacts or custom items of a Legion are almost always created and maintained by the Tech Marines though.

On the Battlefield the Tech Marines typically ensure the working of equipment and do emergency repairs when needed. The deployment of equipment and vehicles also falls under the purview of Tech Marines. Drop-Pods and Drop-Ships deploying that equipment are accompanied by a Tech-Marine to ensure maximum performance. Tech-Marines also work with a squad of tech-priests which can number from two to hundreds. This varies on the rank, skill, and intensity of the Tech Marines current project. Engiseer members of these Assistant-Priests also serve alongside the Tech Marines on the battlefield

 _Apothecaries_

Geneseed is the lifeblood of a Legion. The care and harvesting of this precious substance along with the caring for a Legions injured are the duties of the Apothecarium. Legion Apothecaries harvest Gene-Seed from three different sources, the Legions Primarch, the Legions Dead and an Astartes neck Prognoids which can be harvested every five years. The secrets of Astartes creation are kept by the Apothecarium. The care of Geneseed and the creation of the Astartes are the primary duty of the Apothecarium. While the treatment of injuries and overseeing the health of the Legion are their secondary duties.

On the battlefield, Apothecaries act as a combat medic and when necessary euthanizers. For even with the great regenerative abilities of the Astartes, the Emperor's peace is sometimes the only option available. Apothecaries tend to gravitate towards the duties of Astartes-Smith or Combat-Medic and will as their carrier continues usually end up specializing as one or the other.

 _Scouts_

Information wins wars, that tenet is possibly even more true with the Transhuman Astartes. Much of the information not collected by Servitor-Drones or Orbital scans come from the Astartes Scouts. Experts in stealth, asymmetrical warfare, and information gathering the scouts form the Legions primary recon and harassment force. Equipped with modified or stripped down power-armor that trades protection for stealth the Scouts are rarely seen on the battlefield, let alone the front lines. More often they work to harass supply-lines, eliminate key targets and keep HQ up to date on enemy movements.

Some Legions use the Scouts as the last segment of their neophyte training instead of having them as their own separate standing force. This gives the young Astartes combat experience while teaching them the subtle aspects of warfare. Even in these Legions, Scout-Sergeants are sometimes assembled into special operations squads known as Kill-Teams. These experienced operators are entrusted with the riskiest missions requiring surgical skill and stealth.

 _Muster Chiefs_

An army marches on its stomach. The Astartes Muster Chiefs are the masters of logistics Supplies and commanders of servants. Trans-Human Cogitars of incredible intellectual might and mathematical skill the logistics needed to run a galactic campaign are handled by them. Managing the human support staff of a legion, ranging from armory serfs to the Imperial Auxilla assigned to a Legion. Recruited from neophytes with great mathematical, problem-solving and mortal liaison skills the Muster Chiefs put their superhuman bodies and minds to the science of warfare.

While more often found in the stock-pile zones and Cogitator centers of the Legion the Muster Chiefs are still Astartes and can be found on the battlefield. Auxillia regiments deployed alongside the Legions are deployed with one Muster chief as Astartes emissary and as a commanding officer outside the normal chain of command. Here they ensure the purity and loyalty of the regiment. Foreven the most battle-tested mortals lack protection from spiritual and physical threats an Astartes is immune too.

* * *

 **Legion Detachments**

The Legio Astartes do not fight their wars alone. Other armies and fighting forces accompany and assist the Legions in their crusades. These range in size and vary between each legion. With some Legions possessing massive detachments and others the bare minimum. Below are the most common and important of the Legions.

 _The Talons of the Emperor_

Each legion competes with each other to prove themselves the greatest Astartes fighting force in the Galaxy. Some will even go as far to say they are the mightiest Legion and second greatest warriors in the galaxy. None except the most foolishly boastful would ever claim to be the greatest. For the Talons of the Emperor are beyond comparison. A Single Shield-Company of a hundred Custodes and a Vigil of a thousand Sisters of Silence are deployed with Each Legion. They are the Emperors Talons and protect his servants while bringing death to his enemies.

The Talons are typically deployed alongside the First Formation, acting as guardians for the Primarch and the Legions elite. Here they serve as an ever-present reminder of the Emperor's power and influence. Yet this powerful tool at the Primarchs disposal is a double-edged sword. For they are an unspoken threat against any who would betray the Emperor. Very few things could kill a Primarch, a hundred Custodes and a Thousand Sisters of Silence are one of those things.

Despite being technically deployed as an asset of a Legion the Talons are the Emperors servants first and foremost. It is not uncommon for a segment or even the entirety of a Legions detachment to suddenly leave on a shadowy mission from the Master of Mankind himself. These missions can last for days to years and range from tracking down a specific artifact of great importance to eliminating a threat none can ever know of.

 _The Collegia Titanica_

Few things can withstand the might of the Emperors Angels of Death. The Imperium has weapons to face these threats, and chief among them are the Titan Legions. The Martian God-Machines are an army of walking exterminatus. Deployed in only the most extreme circumstances the Titans obliterate all who stand against them. A single Titan Legion is deployed with each Astartes Legion and provide destructive support beyond even the Astartes armor divisions.

Each Legion varies in size and number of each Titan. The minimum is a single Capital Class Titan, Five Battle Titans, and ten Scout Titans. The size can increase exponentially upwards with a few Legions being able to field hundreds of God-machines. Skitarii and other Mechanicum forces are also deployed alongside the Titans as they would be in any other warzone. As such Mechanicum Forge-Ships are a hallmark of Crusader fleets. Transporting, supporting and repairing them and the Legions mechanical aspects.

When the crusade first started the Legions Titan detachments were composed of loaned units from Mars. As the crusade continued and more and more Forge Worlds were found or founded Titans became a somewhat more common sight across the Great Crusade. Eventually, each Astartes Legion gained a sworn Collegia Titanica that existed solely to assist the Legion. These Legions are supplied by Forge Worlds who arm and armor that Legion. The Xth legion was the first to earn a Sworn-Legion. The Talos-Adamants of the Forge World Columnus.

 _The Imperial Auxilia_

While the Legio Astartes form the Imperium Sword and Spear the Imperial Auxilia make up its armor and shield. Recruited from compliant worlds the Imperial Auxilia keep the peace and ensure loyalty on planets across the Imperium. A very small percentage of Auxilia regiments will be sent to fight on the frontlines alongside the Astartes. These better trained and better-equipped regiments known as the Solar Auxilia support the Legions on the battlefield. They guard supply lines, mop up surviving enemy resistance and provide fire-support for the Astartes.

Solar Auxilia regiments support the Legio Astartes Crusader Fleets but form the main combat force of Expedition Fleets. As such the first exposure to the Imperium's armed forces is often the Solar Auxilia. Because of this the Auxillia is drilled to perfection and equipped with the best available baseline equipment. In order to leave a favorable if intimidating impression of the Imperium.

On the battlefield with the Astartes, the Auxilia play various roles. From providing covering fire to the Legionaries. To finishing off enemies before they can regroup and encircle the rapidly advancing Astartes. Sometimes they act as an anvil for the Astartes hammer. Holding them in place with grit and steel when the Emperor's Angels rain death upon them. In brutal grinding battles, they often patch the battle lines and bolster flagging flanks. Allowing the Astartes to regroup and strike.

The number of Regiments assigned to a Legion varies, typically a Solar Cohort (120,000 Troops) per 50,000 Legionaries. This number was flexible, with some mass-infantry specializing Legions having a 1:1 Ratio of Solar Regiments (5,300) to Astartes Chapters. Solar Cohorts often earn titles related to their accomplishments. The ones assigned to the Legio Astartes names are typically related to their assigned Legions. Like the Plutonian Elite serving under the Solar Wardens VII Legion.

 _The Iterator Corps and Other Civilian organizations_

The Great Crusade was more than a military campaign. It was the reunification of mankind's lost colonies. The vast majority of encountered human civilizations were peaceful isolated communities living in fear of the galaxies horror. It was the duty of the Legions to slay those horrors and the duty of the Iterator Corp to convince these worlds to join the Imperium.

Composed of the charismatic Iterators, who could convince entire worlds to join the Imperium with a single speech. Countless civilizations peacefully joined the Imperium, happy to be unified with the Cradle-World once again. The Iterator Corp was formed by Advocate-Primus of the Imperial Truth Uriah Olathaire. The various sub-orders of the Corps can also be traced to the specialties of some of his earliest disciples and projects. Like the anti-theistic Neologians or the Webspinners, masters of political manipulation.

Civilians can be found throughout the Expedition and Crusader Fleets. Tech-Priests hunting for lost knowledge, servants ensuring the day to day running of things, and other more specialized groups. A prime example is the Remembrancer Order. A pet project of Malcador and the Emperor himself the Remembrancers record the Crusade for posterity. Much was lost in the Age of Strife. Including the vast majority of human history. That tragedy will not be allowed to be repeated.

 _The Silver Order and the Silver Knights_

*REDACTED ON ORDERS FROM THE MASTER OF MANKIND*

(All will be revealed when the horrors of Luna are unleashed)


	23. Chapter 18: The Battle of Ceres

**Chapter Eighteen: The Battle of Ceres**

 ** _Location: The Palace of Malg-Dantu on Ceres_**  
 ** _Date: 812.M30_**

Malg-Roth lounged within the depths of its Spore-Kins dwelling. The great void-coral palace was one of the 79 that dotted the harsh frozen surface of C'er. One for each of the 79 Clans of Q'Hrel who ruled the Belt of Sol. It was a perfect domain for Malg-Roths kin, barren and distant from the systems star, minerals rich and filled with tunnels and caverns perfect for slaves and spawns.

The Q'Hrel were an ancient species, with a history spanning million years. In that time Empires and species had risen and fallen. All throughout the Q'Hrel had waxed and waned. Surviving and existing in the dark fetid parts of the galaxy like the Molds they were distantly related to. During galactic Dark Ages, they prospered and fed upon the remnants of broken civilizations. Now was one of those times of plenty. The Meatlings of Terra had been broken by their Automata and the Endless Empire of the Crystal-Children had been dragged screaming into the Nether.

As the fires of those twin apocalyptic conflicts cooled the Q'Hrel had slithered into the former Crown-Worlds of the Terran Meatlings. The meatlings bred quickly and even the greatest cataclysm in their history had done little to quell their numbers. Lacking the legions of Iron that had once defended them they were easy prey for Malg-Roth's kin. For as long as the Story-Murals recorded the Q'Hrel had been the masters of breaking lesser species to their will. The enslavement and exploitation of other sentients had long ago been perfected by Malg-Roth's ancestors and the continuation of such a practice was quite useful.

Terran Meatlings, in particular, proved to be the virtually perfect slave-species. It amused the Q'Hrel that the species that had once claimed dominion over the stars proved such excellent fodder for their industries, agriculture, and subservience. Terrans bred quickly, even in the most odious conditions. They could survive and thrive on the most basic scraps, they could even be manipulated to turn on each other for better pickings of refuse to squash rebellion.

Unlike the Orks or other fast-breeding races, they could be easily broken into obedient slaves. Terran tissue was also quite nutritious and their warp-signature seemed to attract the attention of the Four from the Beyond. Making sacrifices of their Nether-touched an excellent source of boons.

They truly were the ideal Slave-species. Malg-Roth itself was waited on by one hundred fanatically loyal meatlings who all competed for the honor of having their cerebral-spinal fluid drank by their Master. The Spore-Clan of Malg owned 89,602,819 Terran slaves with a few hundred thousand more used for sustenance or materials.

Form its Xeno perspective Malg-Roth knew without a doubt Terrans were inferior livestock and that the enslavement and consumption of them would continue until every last one of them had been used up. Malg-Roth knew this because they would not be the first species to experience such a fate under the Q'Hrel's use. What Malg-Roth did not know was that the millennia of human enslavement and consumption was about to violently end. Or that it was about to pay for its crimes with its life as a barrage of fire reduced its palace to ash.

By their very Nature Voidship Lance weaponry strike first in a battle. This proved true as the first broadsides of hyper-focused energy burned through Ceres's defense field and unleashed hell upon the world below. Battle-tank sized bolts of light turned millennia worth of carefully grown Void-Coral into a plasmatic slurry of its component atoms.

The Palace of Malg-Dantu had proved an optimum first target of the First Legion. The isolated equatorial plateau would provide baseline information on the effectiveness of the fleets weapons. Scans also indicated the vast bulk of lifeforms matching human biological characteristics were located beneath the proto-planets surface. The strike would decapitate enemy leadership without causing unnecessary harm to the enslaved humans.

Lance fire lacerated the kilometer high structure. Leaving angular cuts that turned the thick layer of frost lacquered onto it into great clouds of vapor. Entire sections of the macro-structure were peeled away from the main spire and teetered precariously. As the vivisected structure started to settle from the devastation inflicted by Imperial energy weapons, the fleets Macro-cannon shells slammed into it.

Megatons of explosive force shattered the palace into frozen shards that flitted through the void, effected partially by the rapidly decaying artificial gravity of the palace. Forming a hauntingly beautiful spectacle of crystal-snow floating between earthquake inducing impacts. In less than ten minutes the once prideful center of Xeno-tyranny and all its occupants had been utterly destroyed by the First Legion.

* * *

 ** _Location: The Ty-Prydwen_**  
 ** _Date: 812.M30_**

The first assault was a resounding success, the Xeno-fortress was reduced to ash without issue and the next phase of the battle had begun. Like the nest of vermin it was the protoplanet had been stirred into a frenzy. Defensive shields shimmered into being over the remaining spires. These were not the faint containment fields meant to simulate an atmosphere and protect from cosmic debris but barriers of eldritch energy and distorted space-time.

At Eddards command the fleet opened fire on the other targetable fortress. Three folded under the bombardment, their barriers not solidified enough to withstand the Imperiums wrath. The other twenty were luckier and the shields shimmered with sickly light as they halted the bombardment. Even so, armageddon rained down upon the barriers, straining them and preventing any orbital defenses from being fired.

This did not prevent swarms of Xeno fighter craft from pouring out of their hives. The Fields reacted to momentum and would not block low-velocity objects from entering or exiting it. Confirming what he had expected the First Primarch gave the much-anticipated order to his Legion. "Ready drop-pods for Deepstrike insertion."

Thousands of Legionnaires entered their Drop Pods and prepared to be launched like living ordinance down onto Ceres. A hundred or so Battle-Brothers of the Eighth Formation boarded their strike-craft and took formation as squad-leaders of Auxilia piloted fighter-squadrons. They would defend the fleet and their battle brothers from the oncoming Xeno Horde.

Bolts of energy and mass-reactive shells spilled into the Void as the fleet's defenses came to life. Tens of thousands of Xeno fighters had already poured into the Void and were beginning to open fire with energy weapons. Even in massive volleys, the scorching Xeno-weapons could not threaten Imperial Void-Shields. Still, they fired, all while coalescing towards the Ty-Prydwen. Similar to the Astartes drop pods that thundered past them, the Xeno's sought to decapitate the enemy.

Not a single one got close enough to even touch the Gloriana-Class's Void-Shield. Deadly storms of flak fire and masterful pilots of the Eighth Formation ripped them out of the Void. It was now when the nature of the Xeno fighters were revealed by Imperial Strike-Craft observation. The Xeno Fighter-Craft were not Craft at all but individual specimen of the enemy.

At about eight foot long and sprouting many foul protrusions the horrific bilaterally symmetrical beings flew through the void on some unknown ether with fan-like wings. In its tendrils, they held queer directed energy weapons that lashed out with vivid bolts that tore through the Armor of any Strike-Craft unlucky enough to be hit.

* * *

 ** _Location: Ceres, Xeno Spire-5_**

 ** _Date: 812.M30_**

As the orbital battle between strike-craft and Xeno intensified the First drop-pods slammed into Ceres's surface. Control rockets had directed and slowed the pods to safely pass through the Xeno Palaces force-field. Hundreds of Drop-Pods smashed into and around each Spire. With practiced efficiency, the Astartes exited their transports and secured the perimeter around their craft.

The vast majority of the Drop-Pods had landed within a hundred meters of the base of the spire, a few struck directly into it though. Those Battle-Brothers had the somewhat more arduous duty of setting up internal kill-zones to occupy and distract defenders while the main force moved in. Once the landing forces had decided it was reasonably safe a signal was transmitted back to the fleet. Specialized Astartes from the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 7th Formations were then deployed with their wargear and vehicles.

Twenty independent armies of Astartes, each numbering in the thousands formed up. Columns of the newly manufactured Gen-I Rhino transports and Predator Tanks deployed. Squads formed up into Companies and Companies into Chapters. 3rd Formation scout craft quickly moved to scan the Xeno structure and access enemy forces and access points.

Orbital scans indicated each Spire was an entry point into a sprawling catacomb system of both human and Xeno origin. Taking these twenty spires would provide access to the proto-planets core. The 3rd formations initial reports indicated the Spires themselves were sparsely populated. More akin to a mix of pleasure-palace and fortress than a proper city.

As of now, the majority of their defenders were engaging in the orbital battle but more would soon be spilling out of the planet's crust once the Astartes assault was noticed. This was the key point of the battle for Ceres. The First Legion had to take the spires quickly and butcher the Xeno's before they could mount a defense.

The location marked by Imperial tacticians as Spire-5 was the first to be breached by the Legion. It was one of the larger Xeno-Structures and its entrance was a broad avenue leading to a semi-organic looking aperture. The other spires tended to have high up tubular access points with a few larger ones that seemed to be loading dock equivalents. The design was perfect for armored vehicles and a unit of 4th Formation Tanks and Transports carrying 5th formation Astartes charged the gate.

Once they were within a few hundred meters the reason for the atypical entrance point became apparent. The hab-block sized aperture opened up and two dozen hulking beasts rampaged out of it. Oily tentacled creatures each rivaling a Rhino in size. Festooned with brutal armor and blades attached to their extremities the monster was ready for battle.

On each specimen back was its Xeno-handler. The Q'hrel grasping tendrils each held some sort of energy weapon and they were protected by an armored howdah. Fully utilizing the mobility advantage provided by their quadruped ape-like stance the creatures charged the Astartes Armored division.

With practiced certainty, the Rhino transports moved themselves and their cargo out of the creatures reach and behind their predator siblings all while firing into the pack of monsters with their storm bolters. Taking up frontline positions the Predators blasted away at the war-beasts. Even under a hail of bolt shells and Autocannon blasts, the creatures did not falter. Their armor rippled with oily light that muted the destructive power being unleashed against them. Even so, the great volume of mass-reactive shells filling the air managed to rip through the Xeno-armor and explode inside the war-beasts.

Instead of bleeding or breaking like a fully natural creature the war-beasts flesh oozed over the injury like a grotesque fluid. One of the more massive specimens reared up and brought its armored forelimbs down on a Predators turret. Its riders weapons unleashed etheric tendrils of electricity that crackled and lashed out at the Tanks armor.

Barely dodging the crackling power-claws bonded to the war-beasts flesh as it sunk through the turret's armor the Tanks lead gunner aimed its Auto-cannon into the beast's chest. With an explosive crack, the round blasted through the creatures chest cavity and detonated as it reached the beasts spine equivalent and back-armor. A mixture of organic and metal shrapnel spewed out of its back and reduced the war-beasts rider to a fine paste.

Instantly the War-Beast pulled away as if the Predators hull scalded it. Backing away with twitchy movements the Creature slumped forward, its head pressed against the frozen rock of Ceres. It took a moment for the Tanks crew to decipher the Alien-body language of what they had assumed was a brutish gene-crafted animal. It was bowing, a near-universal mark of supplication and respect.

A moment later the grey clammy flesh of the Xeno-beast started to slaught off of it. Wounds from both this battle and previous ones ripped open. Scars faded into being and became gaping injuries as the Xeno died before their eyes. The patterns even upon such an alien form were unmistakable. Brands and lash marks that always accompanied slavery. This was no animal but a sentient being forced into violence and servitude that was so severe even death could not be an escape. Some foul warp-craft of Xeno-heresy forced the Xeno-slave to keep living and was dispelled with its master's death.

Showing the initiative and understanding that had earned him his command Tank-Sergeant Hawkwood quickly voxed the other tank commanders. "Aim for the Xeno-riders, they are the source of the Beasts resilience. They are just as much Slaves as the mortals toiling below. Euthanize them efficiently."

Reacting with startling speed the Ten tanks of Hawkwoods division gained firing lines on the Q'Hrel riders and pulverized them with concentrated fire. The Armor and shields of their diases did little to stifle the vengeance of mankind. Soon all that was left of the twelve slave-Xeno's were malformed skeletons quickly covering with void-frost. A marker beacon for the Xenos Biologis was deployed on them and the Tanks advanced upon the Gate.

Bolts of energy from turrets hidden in the void-coral flew down upon them, a quick hail of bolter fire quickly silenced them and the gaping entrance to the Spire awaited. It appeared the Xeno's had attempted to shut the bastion once they realized the battle had turned against them. A few stray bolt shells had turned the fleshy aperture into a wound in the spires side.

Assembling quickly the Astartes prepared to march into the Spire. A Cohort of Astartes numbering in at Five thousand Battle Brothers along with Armored transports, Tanks, Flyers, Attack Bikes, Mech Suits, Specialty Forces and support Astartes prepared to enter the Spire. Doom and destructionwas coming, the Xeno's and liberation in life or peace in death was coming to their victims. They were the Emperors Angels of Death, and they would know no fear.

* * *

 _ **Location: Interior of Spire-5**_  
 _ **Date: 812.M30 (30 mins since Cohort 5 made planet fall)**_

The Interior of the spire reminded Sgt Hawkwood of ancient spiral fossils he had seen once displayed in a museum. The Entrance opened up onto a gently sloping spiral road that traced the edge of the spiral. Going left would take you deeper into the spiral and going right would take you higher up. A veritable horde of twittering Cyber-Altered Task-Servitors or CATS were released into the dark interior. Each equipped with a scanner suite and programmed to venture and scan anywhere not mapped by the Legion.

The Predators took formation and prepared to descend into the Spire. Scans indicated the spiral road was composed of the same void-coral that made up the rest of the Spire. Yet it was more worn and damaged than anywhere else. It occurred to Hawkwood this was not natural erosion. It was an effect of thousands if not millions of slaves wearing away at it as they were moved by their masters.

Suddenly those masters descended from above, like twisted parodies of bats the Xenos flew from the shadowed heights of the spire they dwelled in. The same twisted lighting that had been unleashed earlier by the Xeno Energy weapons crackled down. Lashing at vehicles and marching Astartes in great gouts of cancerous energy.

Turret mounted weapons opened fire on the descending Xenos, Infantry Astartes deployed from their transports and joined the firefight. Bolt Shells, Volkite beams, and a few more exotic projectiles filled the dark cavernous spire. The Q'Hrel had realized very quickly with the destruction of their Vanguard beasts that they were disadvantaged on the field of battle. Guile, ambush and as the Astartes quickly learned psychological warfare would be the stratagem of the Xenos.

The psychological warfare in question was discovered as a squad of Jump-Infantry rocketed up into the darkness to strike the Xenos in flight. They were the first to see the next part of the alien attack. The squad captain voxed the entire Cohort in a brief warning of what he saw. "Inbound bombardment, biological weapons likely."

Ten meters from Sgt Hawkwoods Tank something splattered into the helix-road. Numerous Spotter lights fixated on the pulped mass of tissue. It twitched and slowly pulled itself to its feet. Even after a lifetime of slavery and the catastrophic trauma of impact the emaciated form of a human child was still recognizable.

Despite not being Warp-Touched and firmly protected inside the Predator he commanded Hawkwood felt the warps corruption ooze off the child-thing. Some curse akin to what had kept the War-beasts alive animated the corpse. Or what had seemed to be a corpse. Its dented skull turned to face the nearest Astartes who was slowly approaching it with bolter-ready. The child's mouth opened and vocal cords raw from screaming spoke. The dialect barely resembled gothic and it was more of a bloody croak than a sentence, but the Astartes could understand it still. "Make it stop, please make it stop."

As it spoke the child lurched towards the Astartes, puppeteered by some inscrutable force it flailed its limbs uselessly at the Space Marine. Kept alive by foul sorcery the child's mind was intact enough to suffer while its body was used to attack who should have been its savior. With no hesitation, pity or remorse the Astartes fired his bolter and extinguished the last traces of the child's half-life.

The battle continued and so did the bombardment, hundreds of mutilated children rained down upon the Astartes. They were terror weapons, meant to demoralize and horrify attackers. The Astartes only noticed them when they got underfoot or could be easily dispatched.

That is not to say they did not have an effect on the Battle-Brothers of the First Legion. A cold brutal fury similar to their gene-fathers own ignited in each and every Astartes witness to the atrocity. The Xenos would be purged with ruthless efficiency, once the first Legion had finished its duty the only evidence of the slaver-scums existence would be within Imperial Archives.

The battle raged and a handful of Astartes were slain under concentrated fire while thousands of Xenos were ripped from the sky. the Cohorts lead Chaplain opened up a general Vox signal and addressed the Astartes army as one. "Our Armor is Contempt, Our Shield is Disgust, Our Sword is Hatred."

As one, the Cohort responded with the Hypno-indoctrinated response. "In the Emperor's name let none survive"

For nearly an hour the 5th Cohort of the First Legion butchered the Xenos. The Q'hrel were naturally physically tough and further augmented by sorcery and technology. The cold of the void or Ocean depths did little to inconvenience them. Even so, Bolt shell reduced them to pulped slurries, and Volkites burned them to ash. The puppeteered children could be dispatched with the destruction of the brain stem and posed little threat to the Emperors Angels. Even the Xeno energy weapons required several seconds of sustained fire from multiple sources to kill an Astartes. It occurred to Hawkwood the Xenos weaponry might have been designed to maim and torture slaves or beasts, not cutting through centimeter thick ceramite.

The few straggling Xenos were killed by roving squads of sixth formation CQC infantry who had been supporting beleaguered fifth formation fire-teams. All were slain except one. A particularly large and gaudily decorated specimen whose left wing and graspers had been blown off. A faint mewling escaped the Q'Hrell occasionally and it attempted to drag itself out of the ring of Astartes that circled it. An armored kick to its injuries dissuaded it each time.

Hawkwoods Tank company was close by and watched the captured creatures meet its fate. It seemed the Infantry had been ordered to capture any enemy commanders if possible. The reasoning became readily available when an Astartes in the trappings of the Librarius approached the Xeno. The Q'Hrel sensed what was coming and its efforts to escape redoubled.

Witch-Fire streamed from the Librarians eyes and his Psychic-Hood crackled with Warp-Lighting. The sigils on the Psykers armor marked him as Telepathica Librarian, a specialist in ripping open the minds of the enemy and twisting the perception of the weak. The Librarian telekinetically restrained the creature, a mist of warp-frost coating its limbs. While he chanted psi-mantras to ground himself and focus his powers.

All but the most psychically dull could sense what happened next. Like an adder sinking its fangs into its prey, the Librarians mind struck the Xenos. The Creature thrashed and squealed as knowledge, secrets and it's very thoughts were ripped out of it and analyzed by the Librarian. Centuries worth of Xeno memories were sifted through and the most important details were plucked away.

The Librarian was thankful despite the Xenos appearance its neurology was not too radically different from humans and deciphering the memories was fairly easy. Tactical information was acquired and basic knowledge of the Xeno's language and communication methods.

A small pack of Calligraphus and Vox Servitors were disgorged from the transport the Librarian had exited. Electrical bursts erupted from the Librarians hood and arked over to specially designed receptors attached to the Servitors. Knowledge torn from the Xeno's mind was injected into the lobotomized cyborgs. It was recorded perfectly by the Servitors and Voxed in data bursts to the Orbiting fleet who then analyzed it.

Drained of its knowledge the quivering Xeno was released from the Librarians telekinetic grip. A brutal thrust with a force sword finished the broken Q'Hrel, the tattered remnants of its soul burned in Witch-Fire. The Cohorts Lord Commander ordered a detachment of three hundred Marines to clear out the top of the spire and then ensure the security of the landing site and spire base. Spire-5 would be the beachhead the Imperium needed.

Armed with new knowledge that quickly circulated through the Cohort and new orders from the Fleet the rest of the Fifth Cohort advanced into the Depths of Ceres. Down and down they went, the Helix-road showing no signs of ending until they were nearly three kilometers below the planet's surface. Eventually, it emptied out into a massive underground cavern.

Stretching as far as the Astartes sensors could detect the Cavern was roughly cross-shaped, with the helix-road coiling down from the Spire-shaft that formed the crosses junction. This was an entry point to a great subterranean highway that connected the Spires, mines, and slave pits of Ceres. Carved from solid bedrock by ancient humans and widened and modified for the Xenos insidious purpose.

Sgt. Hawkwood for a brief moment wondered if a Titan-Equivalent could be in these tunnels, they were certainly big enough to comfortably hold a smaller one or a Knight-mech. He doubted it, such a weapon would have already been used in the conflict. These tunnels were the size they were to allow easy transport of minerals and millions of slaves.

New Orders came in, The Tank Company Hawkwood was part of would lead the scouring and conquest of the Northern route of the Highway. The Cohort would be subdivided into Four elements that would spread out and claim the subterranean passages for the Imperium. A senior Chaptermaster would each lead one while the Battle-Master would coordinate and oversee the occupation from the quickly assembling basecamp in the Xeno-Spire.

The Fifth Cohort marched forth into the depths of Ceres. Each cohort-fourth formed an unstoppable tide that poured through the tunnel. Like a wave of cleansing fire, they blasted through numerous Q'Hrel blockades and defensive positions.

Recon squads occasionally splintered off into mining-crevices that dotted the cavern's walls. Most of the mines they explored were long abandoned, littered with the bones of long-dead slaves. A few held work-gangs of humans and Xenos. Utterly broken in mind, body and soul the slaves had to be ordered at gunpoint to leave the mines and head towards the basecamp quickly assembling at the spire. They would be useful labor until refugee ships could arrive to pick them up.

The Cohorts main divisions butchered through the tunnel at a steady pace. Their orders were to meet up with any friendlies who had entered from different spires. This happened to Hawkwoods semi-cohort a few hours into the tunnel battle. A horde of Xenos and their war-beasts had tried to fortify a segment of the cavern into a makeshift bunker. The Xenos had the terrible luck to be assaulted by two different Astartes forces simultaneously. Forced to subdivided themselves to face the twin encroaching forces they were easily ripped apart.

When the Predators Cogitators notified him friendlies were in the area Hawkwood ensured his crew was careful with their volleys. Avoiding friendly fire has always been a priority on the battlefield. Eventually, the twin forces met in the center of the Xeno encampment. Commanding officers exchanged pleasantries and information. The friendlies were a mixed formation chapter from Cohort 9. Plans were made to work together to clear a side-tunnel the Mixed-Chapter had discovered.

Right as the joint operation prepared to roll out a massive planetquake shook the cavern. Stone cracked and baseline humans would have been thrown to the ground. After a few seconds of shaking it stopped. The tunnel settled and thankfully no debris larger than a human head fell from the ceiling. As the Astartes grounded themselves a simple message blipped through the vox. "The Second Legion has joined the battle"

* * *

 _ **Location: Outer orbit of Ceres**_  
 _ **Date: 812.M30 (Four hours since the First legion made planetfall)**_

The Void was alight. Weapon fire from thousands of barrels poured from the Imperial Fleet. Lances, Macro-Cannons firing both material and plasma-shells pelted the surface of the Slaver-world. The grand shields of the Xeno's protected most of their spires but another six (with no deployed Astartes inside) towers were reduced to rubble by the bombardment.

Mass destruction while certainly, an effect of the attack was not its goal. Eddard Fendragon had wagered Xeno-Vessels were hidden across and below the dwarf-planets surface. The Q'Hrel fleet stationed in the Asteroid Belt was fast assembling and approaching, it was forming up into a single massive armada in hopes of challenging the First Legion Fleet. Having a second fleet disgorged from Ceres would prove a tactical nightmare. So the bombardment continued. All while Drop-ships rained down, providing armor and supplies to the advancing Astartes within the planet.

Eddard watched on the grand-tactical map as new information poured in. Formed from memories stolen by the Librarius and real-time tactical data it allowed the Primarch to observe and coordinate the battle. A wave of green dots on the map representing allies slowly pushed the Xenos deeper and deeper into the planet. The legion formed an ever-tightening noose, forcing the enemy into less territory.

The battle would only get harder from here. The planets depths had time to attempt to fortify, and any survivors of the hastily created defenses would further bolster the Xenos. This could not turn into a siege battle. The Astartes needed to crush the Q'Hrel in one solid push. It seemed something located deep within the planet was the center of the Xeno-Fortifications. Records supplied by Malcadors agents indicated it was some sort of Golden-Age communication nexus.

Taking it would be difficult but not impossible. The deployed Legion would encircle and pressure it. Forcing them to divide their forces, then Eddard would lead the First Cohort to breach the defenses and decapitate the enemy leadership. The First Legion landing forces were doing their duties well, but Eddard would not leave the Orbital war until his brother arrived.

Small escort swarms from the Belt Fleet were already harrying the First Legion fleet. Spread out over the Dwarf-Planet in bombardment formation the Fleet was not in a state to handily win the oncoming engagement. They would, but at too high of a cost. This is where the Second Legions duties would come in. They would soon arrive and strike down the Xeno-fleet, allowing the First Legion to continue and win the ground war.

The Second Legion should have arrived earlier to prevent this situation, Eddard could telepathically sense some of his Fleet-captains starting to wonder if moving into a more defensive situation was advisable. Yet even as the Xeno Armada got closer and closer to firing range Eddard held firm. He trusted his brother and had a strong (possibly psychically based) hunch of what Aleixo Garvia was planning.

Those suspicions were realized as an urgent astropathic message blared through the First Legion Fleet. All it said was "Hold Fast"

On all channels, Eddard ordered his fleet to brace for impact and swore internally to himself. The Xeno fleet was bunched up, all desperate to strike the invaders and help save their property of Ceres. Thousands of strange Xeno-ships and individual Q'hrel massed together and prepared to attack the fleet. A few seconds later two-thirds of the fleet would be reduced to ash and plasma.

The Second Legions fleet arrived into the battle, no, into the enemy fleet itself. While moving at a disturbingly high percentage of light speed. Executing a maneuver that had been labeled extremely dangerous during the Golden Age and barely theoretically possible in the Age of Strife the Second Legion struck.

Alexio Gravia used his tremendous intellect and skill in voidcraft to perform a technique ancient Void-Admirals called Insteins Fist. His entire fleet under his careful orders and calculations had arrived at near light speed. Precise manipulation of the fleets grav and shield systems created a pseudo-bubble of normal void-conditions around the fleet as its Plasma-Drives accelerated them to relativistic speeds in a matter of moments. After a few minutes of this travel the vessels rapidly deaccelerated through auxiliary thrusters and further gravitational manipulation right on target.

The end result was the Second Legion and Imperial fleet leaving Martian orbit and arriving in Ceres orbit after only a few minutes of travel The fleet was cloaked in a wave of plasma, as the accelerating had caused any matter encountered in transit to undergo a fusion reaction, detonating into a cloud of energy and radiation. Additionally, the sheer momentum of the fleet caused space/time itself to bend and twist. Forming a near-fold in spacetime as the materium tried to cope with the sudden creation and dissolution of a truly massive gravity well

So when the Second Legion and Imperial Fleets arrived into the massed Xeno armada they did so cloaked in simultaneous nuclear detonations and riding an artificial Gravitational Wave. The cataclysmic amount of energy released was carefully funneled by the positioning of the arriving ships. Protecting the Imperial Fleet while wrecking devastating upon the Xeno fleet.

Annihilated instantly the Xeno counter-assault was broken, gravity waves rocked the fleet like an oceanic tide. Massive fissures ripped open in Ceres crust. Some of the remaining unbreached or unbroken towers collapsed under the artificial tectonic stress. Eddard mused that sending his brother data of the battle had allowed Alexios genius to figure out a way to aim the gravity wave that efficiently.

The First Legion Fleet watched with a mix of shock and awe as the wave of annihilation spread out and the newly arrived fleet took up battle positions. Quickly subdividing the Second Legion and Imperial Armada formed into hunter-groups. Each lead by an Astartes-Admiral tutored by the Second Primarch. They spread through the Asteroid Belt crushing any resistance and bringing the maze of rock and void-scrap under Imperial Compliance.

Data, tactical information and more were rapidly exchanged between the fleets and Eddard was confident the Void was under Imperial Control. Turning a part of his attention to the tactical map he was relieved to learn there had been no fallout in the tunnels. They were deep and stable enough to protect the Astartes from the quakes, he did wonder how many slave mines collapsed from the attack. Acceptable but unnecessary losses, he would need to have words with his Brother…

* * *

 _ **Location: Somewhere dank and dark within Ceres**_  
 _ **Date: 812.M30 (One Hour since the planet-quakes stopped.)**_

Recon Squad Stutely of the Ninth Cohort crept through the twisting crevice-caverns of Ceres's slave pits. Numbering five experienced scouts the squad was commanded by Scout-Lieutenant Lleid. They had been tasked with scouting a cavern system their cohort had discovered. Slaves were to be liberated regardless of species, paths were to be mapped and Xeno slavers were to be exterminated.

The Tunnels were dank and cold. Rivets of icy water trickled through cracks in the bedrock. Some old, some newly born of the Second Legions planet-quake inducing arrival. Jagged wet stone formed the walls and would tear through human skin like paper. It was a miserable foul place. Even through his helms filters, the Scout-Lieutenant could smell the fetid mix of rot, filth and old machines he associated with places like this.

Even after exploring kilometers of tunnel the Squad had not discovered any live humans. Corpses in various stages of decomposition were not uncommon, and a few wandering Q'Hrel had been encountered. They had helped teach the Scout-Squad where to strike to execute them quickly and efficiently. Eventually though the faint echoes of human voices filtered through the tunnels.

After another kilometer or so of travel, the source of these voices were discovered. Creeping through the shadows like silent giants of grim vengeance the Scouts encountered a pack of human slaves. At least a hundred souls ranging from children to barely living elders were chained together and marched forward by a trio of Xeno's.

Before the Battle-Brothers could strike the chain gain lurched. A diseased weakened old man slumped over and stopped the slaves movements. A Q'Hrel taskmaster scuttled over and discharged welt-bringing bolts of electricity from its weapon/tool. The old man thrashed and tried to pull himself to his feet. The years of abuse had taken its toll, and the man could not rise again. Once it realized this the Xeno unlinked the elder's chain and prepared to dump the crippled slave.

The Xeno considered consuming part of the fallen slave but assumed it would be too diseased to safely consume. As it pondered this it's feeding limbs reached forth, this thought of defilement was what sealed its fate. Just as the Astartes were about to strike a bloody shriek filled the tunnel.

A little girl, no older than eleven Terran years had detached herself from the chains when they had unbuckled the old man. In her hands was a sharpened bit of metal and in her heart a lifetime worth of rage. She hurled herself at the slaver and jammed the crude dagger into one of its light-sensitive lobes. Momentary shock filled the chamber as the xeno keened in agony. Soon frantic voices echoed through the chamber as other slaves lunged at the Xenos.

Whips of energy scorched flesh from bones and blood splattered rocks gouged at the Xenos with the near-psychotic fury of the desperate. The tunnel echoed with screams both human and Xeno as the feral carnage continued. A new keening wail spread and both slaves and masters paused as they recognized the sound. A pack of hunt-beasts was scuttling along the walls, coming to assist the Xenos. The slaves started to panic and surge away from the noise. They knew the grotesque pain of the hunt-beasts blood-boiling venom. Yet a group of the younger slaves continued their frantic assault on the Xenos, even as some still attached to the work-chain were pulled away.

The Astartes watched undetected as a pack of children risked life and limb to ferally attack the Xeno. Even as their elders had run they continued the assault. As the older slaves tried to drag the children away the unmistakable noise of a second hunt-beast pack filled the tunnel. It was coming from the other direction. Trapped the work-gang started to panic until a girl, the same who had struck the beast first spoke.

"We are going to die, the tunnels are breaking and a tide of black-iron giants rampage through the depths. Our fate is certain, but how we meet it is not. Let us avenge ourselves on the Masters of C'er!"

Slowly the slaves picked up mining tools and sharpened stone, they knew the girl's words truth. They had lived as slaves for too long. These youths, each light-touched as the deep-witches called those born after the flame ignited were a different breed than their broken ancestors. Inspired by the children's wrath the slaves charged screaming at the closing in Xeno. The girl at the head of the pack. Their charge was met by hungry screeches as the Hunt-Beasts lept upon their prey. They never reached it.

Armored giants seemed to melt out of the shadows, three standing between the first pack and the rebels, two between the second pack. The xeno-creature was easily the size of the girl and had lept to sink its teeth into her neck. With one massive hand, Scout-Lieutenant Lleid caught it and crushed it into paste. In the deep baritone rumble of the Emperors Angels of Death he spoke to the girl, after millennia of language drift she could barely understand it: "Well said, child, well said."

In a storm of iron and blood, the Astartes entered the fray. Power-Machetes ripped through chitin and xeno-flesh with disturbing ease. The muffled thump Ashen-Pattern Assault Shotcannons filled the chamber as they dismembered and pulped both Hunt-Beast and Q'hrel. Lieutenant Llied weaved between acid-tipped claws and feral lunges. With the practiced ease of a trained hunter, he decapitated the creature and moved onto the next target.

Quickly and efficiently the Astartes cleaved through the Xenos. They were avatars of humanities wrath and death was their art. For the rebels senses, it was a near instantaneous slaughter. One moment the Xenos were about to butcher them, the next a pack of giants had appeared and their former masters and hunters were reduced to smears on the tunnel walls.

The first rebel, the girl who had sought to avenge her grandsire was the first to realize they were now surrounded by the giants. They had committed such violence so quickly and easily. Nothing she could do would save her people from the steel-goliaths. Even so, she would not be a slave, she would die free. Gripping her blood-slick improvised blade she snarled at the approaching thing.

It paused and looked at her through burning red eyes. A deep rumble escaped its steel face. It took her a moment to realize it was laughter. The monster was laughing at her? Slowly it buckled its weapons to its body and reached up to its head. She gasped as with a hiss and a click the beast removed its head. No, not its head, its helmet. A gasp escaped her lips as she recognized the unmistakably human features revealed. Even enhanced to an incredible size she knew it was of her species.

Slowly moving to one knee the giant-man looker her in the eyes and she asked: "Who are you? What are you? And why are you here?"

The giant-mans face crinkled with a slight smile as he spoke. "I am Scout-Lieutenant Llied, I am a soldier of the Imperium of Man, and we are from Ancient Terra and we have come to take you home."

Even with the shivers of transhuman dread twisting her gut, something inside her very soul told the girl salvation had come. Shakily she asked her final question as she gestured at the corpses of the Xenos "are you going to kill all of them?"

Placing his helm back on his head the soldier said: "Yes, in the Emperor's name none shall survive."

The girl, whose name was Senada smiled a mirthless smile, the smile of victim avenged. She knew not who this Emperor was but the Soldier respected him and he sought brutal justice for her people. That was enough for her young mind. Softly as she slumped from exhaustion she spoke "Good"

* * *

 _ **Location: The Core of Ceres**_  
 _ **Date: 812.M30 (Ten Hours since the planet-quakes stopped.)**_

It had been a long arduous and strange journey for the Fifth Cohort. As they had marched deeper and deeper into the rocky dwarf-planet physics had become increasingly distorted. The Cohort had reassembled and were preparing to invade the deeper tunnels, the Legion had fully occupied the upper levels of Ceres. They had found a nexus point were numerous tunnels connected and continued in disturbing fashion. The crossroads of the tunnels slopped into great vertical shafts. The tunnels continued down into the dwarf-planet. At first, Hawkwood had assumed it was a lift shaft. For some elevator or vehicle shaft.

Then one of the Jump-Infantry lept towards the pit, attempting to gauge its depth. To the Cohorts shock, the Infantry plummeted out of sight. Then the Battle-Brother walked out of the pit. Coming over the lip as if it was flat ground. Gravity was distorted, the tunnel did indeed continue down, and gravity accommodated the journey.

Carefully the Cohort edged towards the pit and felt the steady shift of gravity. The tunnel floor sloped into the vertical shaft and gravity followed. With caution, the Cohort marched into Ceres depths. Their augments protected them from the disorientation and nausea such a sudden gravity shift would cause, but even through their hypno-indoctrination a slight unease crept through the Astartes.

Deeper and deeper they delved. They met no resistance but the sounds of battle started to echo through the tunnel. Hawkwood checked his Predators Cogitator and was confused. Data-bursts indicated other cohorts had already reached the center of Ceres and were laying siege to the Xeno capital-fortress. Yet that battle raging had to be hundreds of kilometers into the deep. Something was distorting space-time to cause this.

After an hour or so of travel, the sounds of battle were accompanied by faint flashes of light and the quakes of guns. They were close. The Fifth Cohort had covered over three hundred kilometers of distance in an obscenely short time. Eventually, the tunnel opened up into the Heart of Ceres.

It was massive, a dozen kilometer wide and tall super-cavern. Their tunnel-path bent with gravity and became part of the cavern floor. Shaped like some sort of titanic cube and dotted with numerous tunnel apertures the chamber defied all human logic and reason. Each side of the chamber possessed its own gravity. Cohorts of Astartes battled on what Sgt. Hawkwood considered the ceiling and walls. A three dimensional battle of distorted gravity was being waged over the chamber and its disturbing occupant.

Floating in the center of the titanic room was a Xeno city. A spherical mass of organic architecture that filled the chamber. It was the size of an Imperial Cruiser and hung in the air and slowly rotated. Blasts of energy and biological ammunition ripped forth from coral fortresses that dotted it. Swarms of Xeno Defenders lanced forth from non-euclidean fortresses to strike the assembled forces before falling back. This was the heart of the Q'Hrel infestation.

Sgt. Hawkwood smiled with righteous fury as his tank column formed up alongside its fellows. Like the well-oiled machine they were, the Astartes crew prepared for combat and the order to fire. When it came, they and dozens of Predator Tanks fired as one upon the enemy. The Armored assets of the Legion poured fire at the Q'hrel capital.

Cannons spat death, disrupting force-fields and smashing spiral battlements. Flak fire ripped scores of Xenos from the air. Bolt Gun and Blade made quick work of those Xenos unlucky enough to get in range. From all six sides of the cube, the Legion attacked. Jetbikes and Jump-Infantry dueled Xeno warriors mid-air as they sought to land upon the floating-city. Despite the firepower leveled against it, the fortress held strong.

Great gouts of eldritch-lighting scoured along the cavern walls. Summoned and aimed by pulsating nerve-towers that stuck out of the fortress, like an oceanic bottom-feeders spines. These bolts were not the slave-breaking tools the Invasion force had encountered before. Entire Tanks and dozens of battle brothers were vaporized instantly when they struck. Seeking to avoid that fate the Legions forces moved constantly. Not allowing themselves to bunch up and become an easy target.

Even as they moved they fired. For this offense was simply an elaborate feint. The true offense was coming. With every frantic strafing run that managed to reach the Xeno-Fortress, the Jet-Bikes of the Third Formation dropped a unique payload. It was difficult flying in the zone where the gravity of the chamber flipped but the benefits outweighed any risk. Dozens of compact advanced Teleportation Homers plummeted into the Xeno-cities gravity.

When each Homer hit, an alloy-spike deployed from its base. Locking it into place as it unfolded and called into the Warp. These beacons were clever mixtures of Mechanicum skill and Primarch Genius. Designed to send a signal into the immaterium and form a safe one way, one use warp-current. The Deep-Striker Beacons as they were nicknamed allowed for a much more accurate and longer ranged teleportation.

Once enough of these Beacons were successfully planted they ignited. Hundreds of spiritual rip-tides erupted in the sea of souls. Forming a clear pathway from Teleportarium to beacon. Hundreds of Astartes braved the immaterium and arrived in a storm of warp-lighting onto the Floating City. The First Formation had arrived.

Composed of the best the other nine Formations had to offer, the First Formation was mighty. Terminators and Dreadknights thundered forth. Bolt-Shells and more exotic projectiles cut down the shocked Xeno Defenders as they marched. Master duelists and slaughterers carved through the enemy as they hunted for the Q'hrel Leaders. Eager to wet their blades and claim trophy worthy kills.

Each Legion and each formation was warfare perfected in its own way. Millenia of human knowledge in the arts of death applied to their fullest extent. Yet even they paled in face of the First Formation. Representatives of each formation fought together, complimenting each other's skills perfectly. An unmatchable version of what a Legions mixed-Chapter should be.

The Lighting-Towers were struck quickly and efficiently. Hordes of Xeno Defenders were cut down like grain before a scythe. Great weapon banks that fired cancerous projectiles and Field generators met their fate at the Astartes hands. The Q'hrel desperately retreated behind tighter and tighter defensive lines. Burrowing into the city in frantic attempts to escape the Emperor's wrath.

As the First Formation spread out and took control of the floating cities surface some of its Librarians and Tech-Marines pried open its secrets. Gravity Bridges were created, allowing the forces below to be beamed up to the Xeno City. The siege had reached its next stage. Eldritch barriers bubbled into being. Void-Coral Barriers fossilized over apertures and tunnels shriveled like poisoned veins. These did little to halt the Astartes advance. Every barrier was carved open, each door blasted apart. As inevitable as the tide they marched.

After nearly an hour of frantic fighting, the Xeno's had been pushed back to their final stronghold. The true core of Ceres. Below the twisting eldritch architecture of the Q'Hrel was something else. Ancient human metal. It became apparent to the Legion that the Q'Hrel city was a tumorous addition to the Core. An alien-metropolis grown around a relic from before Old Night.

At the heart of the Xeno City was a mighty gate. An ancient Adamantium structure the Xeno elite had fled behind it. Leaving the rest of their ilk to die. The First Formation marshaled before the Gate, preparing to breach it. As they did the other Legion elements continued the purge. The Q'Hrel had committed crimes against the human species, there would be no pity, no remorse, and no fear.

Chapter Master Durrandon of the First Formation: 4th Chapter stood before the Adamantium Gate. His Chapter had been ordered to open the gate, so far nothing had worked. Explosives, focused-Plasma gouts, melta-beams, and even a a few seconds of sustained Predator Fire had done nothing. Even some of the more esoteric arts of the Tech-Marines and Libraries had been ineffective.

The only product of these ventures had been a scant bit of information about the barrier that halted them. As the Astartes had suspected it was of human make. Whatever was beyond it was also the source of the bizarre Space/Time anomalies that plagued the Dwarf-Planet. The Xenos had found a way to hijack the ancient technology somehow, and used it to their advantage. The Gate was held strong by some esoteric mix of material and immaterial science. Durrandon doubted anything less than an orbital bombardment could crack the Gate.

Durrandon sighed as he transmitted the data back to the fleet. Maybe once the rest of the Planetoid was captured heavier equipment could be deployed. Till then they would secure the Gate and assist other forces. At least that was what he planned. An encrypted data-burst blipped through Durrandons Comm. It read "Prepare for High-Value Assist Teleportation. Deep Strike Code: Lion-Knight."

The Chapter Master was momentarily stunned by the message. Recovering quickly he started barking commands. Deep-Strike Beacons were deployed and every possible angle of attack was covered. They would fight and die to protect the Beacons while they did their work. For the Lion-Knight was none-other than their Gene-Father. The Primarch of the First Legion would be joining the battle.

* * *

 _ **Location: The Ty-Prydwen in Ceres Orbit**_  
 _ **Date: 812.M30 (Fourteen Hours since the planet-quakes stopped.)**_

The Fleet-Battle was going well, the Q'Hrel were being slaughtered wholesale. Second Legion Void-Specialists were cleaning out Astroid Nests and destroying their fleet. The II Legion and Primarch proved themselves, masters of the Void, again and again. Eddard Fendragon watched this conquest with mild interest. The vast majority of his transhuman intellect was directed at coordinating the battle below. Even so, he hoped to improve his techniques by watching his brother.

The Battle for Ceres was going well. Everything was going according to Eddards projections. He had been starting to wonder if joining the battle personally would even be necessary. A Primarch on the field of battle could win any fight, but one on a command throne could win any war. Even so, he longed for combat. To wet his blade and lead the charge. Then when the information about the Gate reached him he saw an opportunity. He wanted to test his new sword alongside his Legion.

In a telepathic pulse, he called out to his Honor Guard and the Legions First Chapter. They were to assemble with him and prepare for Insertion. Updates were sent to the fleets various commanders, and he ceded operational control to his brother. Alexio would end the Void War as he finished the ground one. Leaving the command throne he headed to his arming chamber. The armor he wore was a light suit, designed to protect from hull breeches or boarding assaults. Not something a Primarch would wear on the battlefield. Automatically a Chapter Master of the Eighth Formation took Eddard place at the Ty-Prydwens helm as he left.

For this battle, he would be armed and armored with his favorite equipment. The arming servants and servitors had already gathered it. Standing in the center of his arming chamber Eddard allowed the mechanical arms to remove his light armor and prepare his Wargear.

First was a suit of armor that was neither standard power armor nor terminator. Akin to his Fathers and the Custodes in design. Its Auramite was Obsidian Black with only its trim maintaining the original golden luster. In every way, it was beyond the standard plate of the Legion. Artificial muscles strengthened the Primarchs might even further. Auramite plates could stop all but the harshest blows. Sensors and psychic interfaces filled the helm. A unique hybrid-field generator known as the Nemean Halo would protect from all but the most brutal directed energy attacks. This was fastened to an enhanced backpack power-unit that could feed on Eddards psychic might if need be.

It lacked the ornateness of some of his other armors, or of what some of his brothers would wear into battle. That suited the First-Born just fine. It was utilitarian, efficient and yet still beautiful in the same way a master-crafted blade was. Perfect for his uses. The only decoration it possessed came in the form of its Legion markings, the Emperor's own sigil in place of a rank. (An honor awarded only to the Primarchs, Valdor, and Taranis) and a Lion-head crest on its breast-plate. The armor itself had not been named yet, it was known simply as the Black-Plate to those who knew of it.

The Titan-Sword was firmly attached to his left hip by an ancient scabbard, also taken from the Sigillites Vault. The Sword was bound to his very soul. In the short time, he had owned it the blade had become an extension of the Primarchs being. He was eager to test it on the field of battle. Above the blade on his hip was the Primarchs left arm and on it his other weapon. All sons at some point consciously or subconsciously mimic their father. Eddard was no different. The left arm of Black-Plate was a massive Power-Claw. With sword in one hand and Claw in other, the Imperiums Black Knight looked the umbric image of his father.

Unlike his father's golden Talons, Eddards power-claw was built to mimic the claws of some gigantic feline. The armored gauntlet was bulky like his fathers, a mass of auramite and Adamantium that housed archaic mechanisms. Its hulking fingers ended in atom-sharp claws, that could ignite with crackling energy. Underneath the claws forearm was a built-in underslung Plasma weapon. A unique creation of the Primarch known as the Lion-Fire. Designed for tactical flexibility, both its fusion core and electromag-field generator could be easily manipulated. Allowing Eddard to choose what sort of projectile it fired. From streams of superheated gas burning like a Flamer. To super-contained bolts of energy that broke through their magnetic cage once they had punctured a foe's armor. Eddard was psychically powerful but could not atomotize a Xeno-Champion with a thought like the Emperor. Instead, a gout of plasma would make do.

The last piece of wargear to come online was a gift from Kalib and Culain. It was a shield fitting of the Emperors Blade. It was not a bulky Stormshield or anything of the sort. Built into Eddards massive power-claw was a single ornate gem. Easily the size of a mortal man's head was a wonder of psionic and barrier technology. The Ebony Grail, a device that combined miniaturized Mechanicum Knight Ion-Shield technology and telekine barriers. With a thought Eddard could summon an energy field powered by his armor and his mind capable of stopping a Lascannon shot. When activated a golden black shield composed of runes and esoteric energy ignited over his arm and covered his entire left flank in a shimmering field. The only way it was inferior to its Questor mounted kin was its inability to be moved. A Martian Knights Ion-Shield could be moved independently to deflect incoming projectiles. The Ebony Grail acted much more like a traditional shield and moved with its bearer.

Armed and armored the Primarch let his consciousness expand into his arms and armor. The neural ports in his spine allowed a far better connection than his gene-sons carapace. With a subsonic hum, the Armor came to life and the Primarch peered through his helms lenses. The Emperor's Sword left his arming Chamber and prepared to join the fight.

The Twenty Four greatest Members of the 1st Legion met their Primarch at his personal Teleportarium. Wearing modified Cataphractii Terminator Armor and wielding an assortment of Weapons, they would fight and die for their Gene-Father. They were his Honor Guard, the Black Crown. Together both Astartes and Primarch would join the battle. Elsewhere within the Ty-Prydwen the rest of Eddards personal Chapter prepared to teleport. They were the Knights of the Crown. The First Chapter of the First Formation.

Eddard felt his sons battle-lust and excitement wane as they focused. The Astartes tapped into deep hypno-indoctrination and corralled their emotions. Plunging through the immaterium with hearts burning hot would attract malicious attention. Many a Warrior had been plucked from the safe warp-channel of a Teleportation thanks to their souls calling out to the Warps predators. Standing at the center of the teleportatium with his honor guard forming a circle around him Eddard addressed the fleet.

"We salvation for our kin, damnation for our foes! The First Legion started this battle and we shall end it. THY WILL BE DONE! AS IT IS ON TERRA, SO IT SHALL BE HERE!"

With that, the signal was sent to the Fourth Chapter and the Deep Strike Beacons flared into life. The skein of reality was peeled back, the Primarch and his chosen entered the Warp. Riding the river of light that cut through the Warps battle-born froth. The Legions elite rode the current, through the battle-filled void and the frozen bedrock of Ceres, straight into the heart of the Xeno city.

A moment after the Ty-Prydwens teleportarium flared the First Primarch and his Elite arrived before the Adamantium Gate in a flare of Warp-Lighting. Arriving like the Myth-Champions of ancient Nordyc BiFrost Sagas. They were glorious, armored in gold and obsidian. At the head of this epic spear-tip was the firstborn of the Emperor, the Sword against the Darkness, Lord of the First Legion, The Young King of Lions, Eddard Fendragon the Emperors Knight.

Chapter Master Durrandon knelt before his gene-sire and his subordinates followed. With a motion, the Primarch permitted them to rise. Durrandon started to apologize for his incompetence, requiring the Primarchs presence. A firm power armored hand touched his genesons shoulder and words of reassurance were given to him and the other Astartes stationed before the gate. Not being able to open it was not a failure, they simply lacked the right tools. That was why he had come, to supply his sons with the right tool.

"What tool could break down this bastion my lord?" Durrandon asked.

Unsheathing his ancient blade and igniting it with a crackle the Primarch advanced towards the gate while speaking: "the Emperor's Sword"

Gesturing for his sons to back away the Primarch approached the gate. When he was about half a swords length away the Primarch stooped and examined it. A Warhound titan could comfortably walk through the giant door, and Eddard imagined if he had not been present, firepower equivalent to one of those war machine would have been necessary. With a thought, Eddard's left gauntlet shifted. It's great adamantium claws retracted and shifted. The massive fist retracted into the forearm forming an odd buckler of metal around the Ebony Grails gem center. Freed from the bulky power claw his left hand matched his right.

As the First and Fourth Chapters of the Legions Elite watched. The Primarch gripped the Titan-Sword with both hands. Holding it with poise and himself with perfect stance. Eddard focused his mental energies. This sort of singular Iai-Strike was more the fortay of his Third and Fifth brother, but he was a Primarch. Every martial skill he had been taught he had mastered.

Raising the blade high above his head Eddard expanded his senses, both supernatural and superhuman. The gate was held shut by countless mechanisms. Stasis Locks, Gravitic reinforcements, arcane warding, Molecular bonds insulated by eldritch energies, force fields of both human and alien make. It was a bizarre hybrid, human, Xeno, natural, supernatural. Despite this, it would fall. With a single strike, the Titan-Sword and the Primarchs will cleaved the ancient archaic mechanisms.

Few beings in the known universe match the physical and psychic potential of a Primarch. In particular, the superhuman willpower of the Emperor's Sons was almost beyond compare. That willpower, when channeled through a warp-resonant soul, could alter the fabric of the universe in a form of psychic mastery. This was not the crude warpcraft of Sorcerers and Psykers who called upon warp-predators or their own volatile souls to power their arts. This was the Anathemas way. Force of will dominated the Warp and wielded it. Reliant on the Psykers willpower, only the most powerful and confident Warp-touched could wield it.

Eddard Fendragon commanded the warp and it obeyed, immaterial energy flowed through the Primarch and coursed into his blade. In less than a moment, the gates mechanisms were sliced clean through. Matter, energy space/time, no matter the barriers source it was cleaved. For the power wielded by the Primarch was far more primal and beyond the multiverses material workings. A roll of thunder echoed through Ceres's core and the gate was thrust open by the blow. Now came the final assault. Raising his sword above his head the Primarch let loose a battle-cry that reverberated through the Air and Warp. "THY WILL BE DONE!"

With that Eddard led his sons into Ceres heart. The rancid core of the infestation awaited the Emperor's Sword.

* * *

 _ **Location: Inner Sanctum of High Prelate Naalrac-Aou  
Date: 812.M30 (Fifteen Hours since the planet-quakes stopped.)**_

High Prelate Naalrac-Aou was the wealthiest and therefore most powerful Q'hrel within the C'er Slave-Colony. Its clan had been one of the original founders and they had profited greatly from humanities fall. For nearly a thousand C'er rotations the Q'hrel had been fortunate. In a single day, those fortunes had been utterly reversed. A horde of mutant meatlings of seemingly Terran origin had invaded. Every defense and force the Q'hrel could desperately summon was smashed aside.

Naalrac-Aou could only watch through the Inner Sanctum of the Steel-Flesh sensor arrays as doom came to its people. Entire clans were scoured away in belligerent fire. Millennia of history and thousands of Q'hrel butchered. The High Prelate could only ooze pheromones of horror and grief as chem-sensors howled that the Prime breeding pools had been drained. The Polyp-Spawn had been burned alive as they suffocated. Even some of Naalrac-Aou's latest siring has been murdered.

It had been thankful to secure the safety of most of its clan within the Steel-Flesh of C'er. The Ancient relic was impregnable, it did not matter that the rest of C'er's people and resource had to be abandoned. As long as they held the Heart they could wait. Naalrac-Aou's Clan, the Naalrac in near its entirety was clustered deep within the bunker-nests built into the Eldritch metal. Entire kin-units preparing to enter hibernation. An exoskeleton crew of Q'hrel would stand guard over their kin as long as it took for the invaders to leave.

This method had worked before and the elite of the Naalrac Clan hoped it would work again. For a few precious hours it appeared it would. The Mutant-Meatlings were running out of things to smash and burn. Their attempts to breach the Steel-Flesh had so far failed. Right as Naalrac-Aou started to settle and allow itself to hope a new Nether-tear was detected. A large force had stepped between realities and now stood outside the gate.

Before the Q'hrel elder could check the other gravitic and witch sensors for more information a great thundering blast echoed through the Steel Flesh. As it shook the Xeno fortress Aou felt something. Something great and terrible that every species knew and feared. The dreaded feeling of an Apex Predators attention. It faded as soon as it came, and Naalrac-Aou felt the stench of fear-pheromones leaking from its ducts. Shaking itself back to stability the Xeno was shocked and confused. The Q'hrel knew no predators, they had driven such creatures extinct millions of years ago on their home-world. Naalrac-Aou barely had time to regain a little composure when the alert-glands of the Inner Sanctum began expelling news of the worst case scenario. The entrance to the Steel-Flesh had been breached.

Utter dread filled the High Prelate. It could already sense the deaths of the first defenders. Slaughtered by some terrible monster the Terrans had unleashed. Nothing could stop this. Panicking slightly the Q'hrel closed off every gate and unleashed every defense available. It knew this would do little more than buy time. Time to unleash something the founding members of the C'er colony had buried.

The Steel-Flesh core of C'er was more than a bunker and command center for the Q'hrel colony. It was also a vault. A place where wealth, treasures, weapons and horrors could be kept safe. It could be sealed away from outside threats or lock up things that should never have existed. The first and most terrible item in this collection was the very reason the Naalrac clan ruled C'er as first among equals. An ancient artifact from a previous era of Q'hrel history. This weapon was far too powerful to control and beyond the understanding of the Xeno's current sciences. Even so, the threat it possessed and the danger of its activation kept them in control.

Now the time had come to activate it. Frantically Naalrac-Aou scuttled into the deepest vault. Tucked away behind layers of Terran-Steel and Q'hrel energy barriers was a Stasis field of phenomenal potency. A vice-grip on space-time protecting its occupant from the passage of time and the universe from its malice. To human eyes, it would have appeared a single massive diamond. A more careful observer would have realized it was no mere bauble. It was easily the size of a mortal man's head and bedecked with countless scriptures of warding. Trembling slightly the High Prelate started the process of deactivating the stasis field. All while praying to its pantheon for salvation.

Naalrac-Aou knew it would perish in this endeavor, in fact, most of the Steel-Flesh's occupants would as well. Once this thing was unleashed it would form a tide of devastation that would sweep through C'er. As its main manipulators and sensors worked to unlock the artifacts wards its secondary sets worked to open and shut the various apertures and tunnels in the core. If Naalrac-Aou could give the abomination a path of least resistance towards the invaders it would leave its kin alone.

With a little luck, the nightmare-tide would sweep up through C'er and drive the Invaders back. The artifact would be destroyed, the Terran fleet would ensure that. Yet if it could do enough damage the meatlings would be driven back and quarantine the planet. Letting the Q'hrel hibernate for as long as they needed. It was beyond risky but if it succeed at least some of Clan Aou would survive.

The High Prelates book-gills rattled with tension as the last bindings dissolved. The stasis field flickered out of being and time caught up to the artifact. For a moment the oily green diamond hung in the air as the ancient consciousness inside it awoke. A ripple shimmered along its perfect geometric edges. A voice in the Nether punched into Naalrac-Aou's mind. It scream/sang/begged the dread call of the abominations kind "Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!"

That was the last thing Naalrac-Aou ever sensed as the Ancient Servent-Tool detonated into a mass of hungry flesh and consumed it. In far distant eons at their species height, the Q'hrel had sought to create the ultimate slave. A species that would serve perfectly and do any duty. Using Nether-Spawned mutants as the basis of the work they had succeeded for a time. An ever-shifting mass of flesh and matter that could take any shape and follow any order. Like so many other species that dived too deep and too greedily into the Nether domain the fruits of this labor were poisoned. For the Eldar it was the birth of She who Thirsts, for the Kinebrach it was the living decay of Nurglite apathy, the Q'hrel's folly came in the form of a slave revolt. The Shoggoth Insurrection.

After nearly a hundred thousand years of unending conflict in the dark and dank parts of the universe, the Q'hrel triumphed. The Shoggoths were nearly driven to extinction and their former masters recovered. Willingly giving up the powers that had made them mighty and relying only on the most tested and faithful sciences the Q'hrel retreated to the universe's corners. Growing rich and happy feeding off the labor of lesser slaves. The only reminders of the cataclysmic Servant-Tool revolt were fear-sagas to tell the spawnlings and a few prisoners of the war. For the mightiest of the Shoggoths could not be killed by the Q'hrel only imprisoned and sealed away. That was what High Prelate Naalrac-Aou had unleashed.

Nearly a 100,000 tons of ever-shifting mutant flesh had been compressed into a living Diamond. Those seals that kept it trapped in that shape were now gone. A living-tide of flesh poured forth. Gallons of hungry mouths roared through the tunnels searching for enemies to kill and matter to feed on. It was ancient, it was unstoppable, it was a living nightmare. The shoggoth was the ultimate product of Q'hrel science and sorcery. To any mortal man, it was doom-in-flesh. To the Firstborn of the Anathema, it was prey.

* * *

 ** _Location: Somewhere inside the mechanical Heart of Ceres  
Date: 812.M30 (43 Mins and 12 Seconds since the Fall of the Ceres Gate)_**

Eddard Fendragon felt a shift in the Warp. Some great and terrible presence bloomed into being. A body and soul to swallow the world erupted screaming for vengeance and flesh. Quickly the Primarch sent a series of telepathic and Vox communiques to the other strike force commanders. The Primarch led the main thrust with various lieutenants splitting off as they drove deeper into the floating city. Xeno defenders had put up little fight. The bizarre architecture and gravitational anomalies in truth proved to be a bigger danger. The Q'hrel seemed to only have a tentative level of control over the Hearts gravitational abilities. It was still enough to generally impede and harass the Astartes.

So the frantic order to retreat came as a surprise to the Astartes, advancing so far had been difficult and tedious. If it had come from anyone other than their Primarch the Legionaries might have questioned it. The First Formation quickly moved towards the broken gate as the Primarch and his honor guard moved deeper into the bizarre relic-city. They traveled along a direct thoroughfare that had opened up when the presence was unleashed. It had been obscured from the Astartes by gravitational twists and turns. Now free of those oddities it formed a straight path from the Gate to the inner sanctum of the Xeno infestation.

It did not take the Primarchs transhuman genius to understand something was being aimed at him. The Black Circlet honor guard took formation and waited. With a thought, the Ebony Grails shield flickered into being and the Primarch raised his sword and shield in preparation. They did not have to wait long. An epic gale poured down the tunnel. A mass of air being pushed forward by a huge object. The winds roar was soon matched by another. A thousand mouths and vocal cords grown singularly to issue this challenge let loose a defining clarion call.

The tunnel was easily two dozen meters wide and tall. The oncoming flood filled it entirely A wall of mutant flesh that gushed down the tunnel. Mouths, eyes and other more unknowable organs and orfacies formed the wall. It barreled forward, the raw destructive power of such sheer momentum and mass enough to flatten a Mechanicum Knight-Walker.

Moving at speeds even an Astartes vision could not track the Primarch charged the oncoming storm. The Ebony-Grails energy field widened and took the brunt of the impact. Nightmarish-Flesh boiled away as it crashed into the force-field. Whispering psionic mantras the Emperor's Son gathered huge amounts of warp-power. The immaterium flowed through the Primarchs muscles, enhancing and protecting his body from the strain of blocking the Shoggoth. The name of the creature became known to the Primarch when they clashed. Its identity and its dread cry of "Tekeli-li!" were screamed into the Immaterium.

The thing was utterly mad and extremely dangerous. Despite, or because of this Eddard Fendragon was grinning savagely. This would be his first Dragon to slay, a mighty foe to test himself against. The Emperor's Sword would strike the beast down, and it would be the first among countless. Telekinetic force enough to reduce an Astartes company to a wet stain was used to bolster the Primarch. Waves of mental energy pushed back at the beast, yet the Primarch was still losing ground. Slowly but surely he was being pushed back. The scrape of his sabatons along the metal floor added to the cacophony of creature's hisses, the energy fields crackle and the Black Circlets fire.

Bolts of Plasma, Volkite rays and exotic bolt-shells vollied around the Primarch. Slamming into the flesh-tide and alleviating the transhuman champions burden the smallest amount. Dragon and Dragonslayer clashed. The Primarch snarled under the pressure like a great feline dueling its rival for control of the Pride. Reaching out with his warp-sight the Primarch realized the true bulk of the Creature. He was only facing down a tendril of it. To defeat the Shoggoth the Imperiums Apex Predator would be unleashed.

The Primarch voxed his sons, a simple order to protect them from the Beast's wrath and the Primarchs fury. "All units retreat to the surface and wait. If I do not return within six hours prepare to implement the ultimate sanction"

The Legion was shocked, what sort of horror could their Primarch have encountered to warrant such a thing. Nearly a hundred Astartes Librarians delved into Cere's core astrally to find the answer the moment the order came through. One went insane, thirty-one were comatose for anywhere for an hour to a week and the rest came back screaming about a mountain of flesh-hungry for souls. The Astartes left the core of Ceres all heading to the various occupied fortress built into the crust. They would let the Emperors Sword fight but they would not abandon their genefather. The Legion was poised and ready to hold the line against the horror if it broke through the Primarch.

The last to leave were the Black Circlet. It took a direct psychic order from the Primarch to get the honor guard to evacuate. Each and every one of them wanted to fight and die alongside the Primarch. It was only when the knowledge that their presence would hamper their gene-father's chances of surviving the fight was hammered into their brains did they finally retreat. Once they and the rest of the First Legion were to safety the battle could truly begin.

Eddard was surrounded, the Honor Guard had had to blast their way through various corrupt tendrils to escape and now those writhing waves of tainted meat were closing in. The Shoggoths great lumbering intellect was focused on the Primarch fully, it had focused on surrounding and consuming him over escaping. For such a being absorbing a Primarch would bring about an Apotheosis of evolution. Despite its great age and experience, the Shoggoth did not see it was playing into the Primarchs hands. It had not learned from its mistakes in the Insurrection and greedily coveted the secrets of the Anathema.

Masses of twisted flesh poured down both ends of the corridor, pinning the Primarch between itself. As the second front of the tide edged closer to the Black Knight his stance changed. A wave of telekine force pushed the mass that pressed against his shield back just a little bit and gave him an opening. The Ebony-Chalice force field simmered into nothingness, and its golden glow was replaced with the light of the Primarchs weapons.

The Titan-Sword ignited, its blade becoming a solid mass of purifying white-hot light. Psychically imbued claws crackled with disrupter energy and the Lion-Fire Plasma-Weapon readied itself. A stream of Plasma funneled in a vague cone by electromagnetic bindings poured into the original tendril-wall. Enhanced and controlled by the Primarchs Pyrokinesis it atomized the Shoggoth on contact. Soon the very walls of the tunnel started to run molten and burnt as flickering lashes of plasma-fire licked across it.

With his Left hand pouring death into the original Flesh-tide the Emperor's Sword struck with his own weapon into the second wall of shoggoth. Where the blade touched, the creature died. Ever mutating cells popped into sparks of plasma if they were so much as caressed by the sword's energy. With only a single hand and reduced mobility, Eddard kept the ambushing beast at bay. Moving faster than the Materium should have allowed the blade was everywhere the Shoggoth was. Soul-Fire, disrupter-energy and a perfect killing edge erased it into unliving atoms.

Adjusting slightly the Primarch let the Shoggoth creep closer and closer. Whirling about he unleashed Sword and Flame on both tendrils, becoming a maelstrom of destruction. Striking faster and faster in a smaller and smaller radius. Eddard Fendragon slashed and burned, drawing the full attention of the monster to himself. A steady layer of base-elements that had once been the Shoggoths flesh coated the walls of the chamber. The metal growing blacker and blacker from plasma fire and ash. Reaching out mentally the Primarch could feel the creature diverting its flesh to strike him. Tendrils that had originally probed the Hearts reaches searching for escape were now being added to the bulk attacking him.

On and on the deadly duel continued. The Primarchs killing-storm becoming a sphere of extinction. Everything from semi-liquid living acid to organic-diamond spines seeking his heart was destroyed. The Titan-Sword was everywhere at once and accompanied by the Lion-Fires wrath the Primarch battled. Feeling the titanic body and mind of the shoggoth utterly devoted to the battle he smiled. Every last inch of the Shoggoth was dedicated to ending him. With that certainty, Eddard Fendragon let out a triumphant roar. Now the day would be his.

The Lion-Fire increased in intensity tenfold as most of the Primarchs power-packs output was pushed into the unique plasma weapon. The walls of flesh could not press through the inferno even as the Titan-Sword halted its dance of doom. The Black-Plate could not maintain this for long but the Primarch did not need long. A few moments of concentration were all he needed.

The Primarchs willpower reached out into the Warp and touched the reflection of his sword. The Titan-Blade like so many legendary weapons dwelt in both material and immaterial. For its legend and nature made it an object of both domains. Dominating and grasping both Sword and Dream-of-Sword the Primarch prepared to strike the ultimate blow.

Eddard Fendragon unleashed a technique that was the pinnacle of the Force-Sword arts. The blade became a conduit into the Warp. A Warp-rift in the shape of a Sword. The connection between the sword and sword-legend became a bridge into the Sea of Souls. Forming a distort weapon of unimaginable potency. The silver blade became as black as the void. No longer a swords killing edge but a Psychic black-hole forged into the shape/idea of a blade.

Time slowed as the Primarch focused. Searching for the greatest concentration of the Xeno monsters flesh. Watching the tides of flesh ripple and roll until the opportunity presented itself. With the Blackened Titan-Blade, the Emperor's Sword struck. Thrusting it forward the Swords distort rift/blade expanded. Becoming longer and longer as the material veil was split.

For a moment the material universe struggled to understand what now existed within the tunnel. A mile-long gash in existence that both began at and was the Titan-Blade. Once the universe settled and the laws of physics could interpret the rift, doom was unleashed. Everything that came in contact with the blade/rift ceased to exist. Ripped between the laws and domains of the material and immaterial. A "normal" distort weapon would have stopped their, the technique the Primarch had invented and named "The Strike Dolorous" was far far more destructive. So much so he had needed his Sons to leave him for fear of damaging his Legion more than his enemy.

Un-Gravity of the Warp dragged the Shoggoths mountainous flesh into the rift. A spiritual event horizon that hungered eternally. The Primarch held himself perfectly still, focusing every ounce of his willpower into controlling the Titan-Sword. If he failed and let the rift break from his control it would sputter and leave him to the shoggoth. Or far more horribly open up a screaming chasm into the farthest reaches of the Deep-Warp.

Ton after ton of mutating frantic meat was pulled into the Immaterial, shackled together by tendons and chemical bonds. The creature fought with every ounce of its being to pull itself free. Clawed and fanged tendrils lashed at the Primarch, cracking his armor, desperate to pierce his flesh and claim his soul. Eddard paid them no heed as his mind dived deeper and deeper into the Immaterial. He plunged his consciousness and his sword into the darkest most impossible reaches of the Warp. Making the conduit a mightier and more terrible thing.

The Shoggoths very mind body and soul was pulled into the Deep-Warp. Where the congealed stuff of unborn universes erased it utterly. This struggle of wills continued for an uncountable period of time. The rift twisted spacetime itself making time pass strangely in those twisted flesh-filled tunnels. Fendragon himself did not know if the battle had lasted seconds or centuries. All he knew was he must outlast the abomination. Even as a fleshy diamond-tipped drill tendril cut its way through one of his armors knee-joints and into his flesh he paid it no heed. Rasping miniature maws gouged away at the flesh of his leg. Seeking to pain him enough to break the rift.

Still, he stood strong as molecular acids designed to maim while keeping nerves alive enough to suffer pumped through his bloodstream. Mastercrafted biology battled Alien insanity as the Primarch and Shoggoth dueled. The duel was fought on the countless battlefield, from the sea of souls to the individual tendons of the Black-Knights calf.

Slowly but surely the creature was fed into the Warp. Dragged out of its nests and burrows in Ceres like a parasite being excised. It frantically tried to plant elements of itself in untouched crevices. Disconnecting itself and hoping to survive the Warps hunger even if its main body did not. To the monster's terror, this was not enough. Its soul was also being consumed by the rift, dragging its consciousness into the pit leaving its protected flesh-caches without a mind. Reducing them to puddles of inert protoplasm. The assault on the Primarch intensified as toothed tendrils ripped his flesh apart from the inside. Organs were punctured, muscles ripped, bones burrowed into. Psychic power kept the Primarch standing.

Finally, the struggle started to come to its close. Shoggoth tendrils burrowed deep into Eddard started to be pulled taught. Digging in with spurs and barbs it fought to keep its hold on the Primarchs flesh, but the Shoggoth was quickly running out of material. Over 90% of its body had been sucked into the Warp and it lacked the matter to continue the attack. The Shoggoth howled in desperation as its clawed feelers were pulled out of the Primarch. Eddard bore the mind-breaking pain with stoicism as the creature was pulled out of his wounds.

At last, the Shoggoths entire body was dragged into the warp. One Hundred Thousand Tons of ancient horror was dragged into the Warp. Screaming and thrashing the entire while. With a final desperate howl, the monster was pulled fully and finally into the Warp.

Now the true battle began. Roaring with stress the Primarch fought to dominate the Warp and keep the rift from growing. He pulled himself out of the nightmarish domain of the multiverses innards and back to the Sea of Souls surface. Breaching and returning to the domain of sanity and certainty the Emperor's Sword sealed the rift shut. The black nothingness shrunk and shrunk until it was gone. Finally, all that was left was the Titan-Sword. Its Nothingness-Blade slowly faded as the psychic energies summoned to rip open space/time were used to seal it.

Time returned to its normal progression and the Titan-Swords blade once again became the mythic silver it was supposed to be. The only evidence of the rift or the Shoggoth was the bizarre grooves left where it had been erased from and a few puddles of primordial ooze awaiting collection and study by the Mago Biologis.

In truth, Eddard Fendragon did not know how much time had past during the duel but his Armors chronometer indicated about two hours had gone by for the rest of the Universe. Exhaling deeply the Primarch attempted to sheath his blade. Only then did he allow himself to feel the mind wracking pain his body was experiencing. Catastrophic internal damage nearly caused him to topple over from the simple act of returning his Sword to its scabbard.

His mind utterly exhausted from the effort of the Strike Dolorous and his body ravaged by the Shoggoth Eddard Fendragon allowed himself to slump to his knees. Despite all the suffering and stress, he had endured the Primarch was proud. He was the Emperor's Sword, pointed at humanities foes, and today he had struck down his first true foe. Throwing his head back and letting loose a triumphant roar through bloody cracked lips Eddard Fendragon celebrated his victory. The primal shout that echoed from his mouth and mind reverberated through the mechanical heart of Ceres and the waiting Astartes minds. To all who heard/felt it the meaning was obvious. They were triumphant.

Rapidly the First Formation returned to Ceres's heart and found their Primarch. The Emperors Knight had managed to heal partially. Anathema-taught biomancy and their Genesires own formidable augments had stopped the bleeding. Organs were being patched, muscles reknit, and toxins were contained and excised. Despite the wishes of the Black Circlet Eddard Fendragon insisted on leading his sons till the conclusion of the battle.

Together they marched into the farthest reaches of Ceres. Through tunnels and chambers distorted by the unmaking fury of the Primarch and the Shoggoths fleshy detonation. The Legionaries were surprised to discover vast parts of the Relic-Fortress untouched by the Shoggoth as if something had steered it away from these gates and doors. High Prelate Naalrac-Aou had succeeded in guiding the Shoggoth away from his kin. It did little good for them. They would have been swallowed instantly by it. The Imperium would not grant them such a peaceful fate.

The few remaining guards were butchered by the First Formation and their charges were left vulnerable. Over a thousand Q'hrel hibernation pods had been built into these hidden chambers. Along with countless technological and cultural relics to help them restart their fetid civilization. Knight-Master Landuin, the second selected of the Black Circlet raised his plasma pistol to burn the sleeping Xenos. Eddard stopped him was a motion and ordered the contents of the room to be presented to the Adeptus Terra and Mars for their purposes.

Technological and biological secrets would be pried from the Q'hrel and their artifacts. The foulest looking would be used in Public Executions and show-trials. Allowing humanity to see the enemy and know they could be killed. Brutal justice for the freed slaves would be extracted.

Deeper still into Ceres was a collection of Golden Age human relics. Machines of gravity and time that stymied even the Primarchs intellect. Musing to himself Eddard wondered how much favor he could curry with the Mechanicum when the contents of these hidden vaults were handed over.

At long last, the entirety of Ceres and the Inner Belt of Sol was cleansed. In a few days the First and Second Legion and effectively subjected a region of valuable territory that would have taken even the finest of the Unification Troops months to crack. While maintaining its resources, usefulness, and protecting human civilians. Something the Thunder Warriors had never been good at. Bloody and Battered but still regal and strong Eddard Fendragon returned to the Ty-Prydwen and announced to the Legions and Imperium in general that the Battle of Ceres was over.

* * *

A.N. Sorry for the Long wait. University Exams and the length of this Chapter are my only explanations. I hope you all enjoy.


	24. Chapter 19: The Fall of Luna

**Chapter Nineteen: The Fall of Luna**

 _Location: The Bucephalus, in parade formation with the rest of the Imperial Fleet at Sol's Mandeville Point  
Date: 813.M30 (Three Months since the First Legion left Sol for Ceres)_

The Conquest of Sol had gone off virtually without a hitch. Twenty Primarch left Sol in staggered duos. Working together or solo to target and subjugate the Solar System. Many great battles were fought. From Eddard Fendragons slaying of the Shoggoth to Iskandar and Perturabo breaking the Venusian War-Witches control over the Golem-Legion. After three months of hard-fought war, the Solar system was entirely under Imperial control.

Twenty preliminary Crusader Fleets, a few dozen Expedition Fleets and the Augustus Fleet of the Custodes and Emperor were now marshaled at the Edge of Sol. Within the Bucephalus, the Emperor and his sons met. It was the first time they had all been together since they left Terra, and now they stood together in the Grand Observatory of the Imperial Flagship. Earlier in the evening, the chamber had hosted a grand banquet of celebration. Dignitaries, officials, and officers had mingled among Astartes. Remembrancers had made their formal debut, recording the event for the larger Imperium. Speeches had been given, merits and awards gifted to heroes of the campaign. It had been a triumphant celebration of the newborn Imperium of Man.

That party was over and now in the star-lit chamber, the Master of Mankind stood before his sons. They had celebrated in public and the brothers had congratulated each other. Now it was time for final words of wisdom to be gifted from father to sons. As one the Primarchs knelt before their father and reaffirmed oaths of loyalty they swore once before. In the heart of the Imperial Palace on their 20th birthday. The Emperor had hoped to be able to launch the Crusade by then. Sadly that had not been the case and an additional decade had passed before the Imperium was ready. Time his sons would make as they conquered the stars.

Even if they had not left Terra then, they had reached adulthood at twenty. So it was only fitting they be given the inheritance their father had crafted from their genes. At twenty the Primarchs had been given full command of their legions and swore the Imperial Oath to their father. Promising eternal loyalty to him, and humanity. A little over a decade later those words were repeated as they prepared to take to the Stars. The words were the same, from the lowliest PDF auxilia to the Primarchs themselves. Unity in purpose, across the spectrum of mankind.

Finishing the oath, the Primarchs rose to face the Emperor. Each of them saw the Master of Mankind uniquely. The Human-Anathema had no set form, the Primarchs knew that. Even minds as powerful as theirs could only interpret the energy before them. Some saw an ancient sage, others a scarred battle-king, a regal politician, a few even saw an unassuming mortal. The only details shared between each set of eyes locked on the Emperor was the golden eyes that shone like stars and the paternal smile of pride.

Touching their minds and speaking directly to them the Emperor began: "I have lived the entire length of human civilization. Entire empires, cultures, and subspecies were born and extinguished in these long forty thousand years. My duty as humanities guardian has been a harsh one. Extinction and damnation have been hounding our kin form the moment the first simians learned to walk upright. This war I have been waging is now entering its climax. Ascension and survival or desolation and doom if we should fail."

"In those forty thousand years many allies have stood with me. Including many of your gene-sources. Yet each of them could only help me in this battle in limited ways. Time, sorrow and horrors beyond thought forced them to stop walking the shining path with me. When I first started the Primarch project I did not know what would be born of it. You, my sons, are the results of that project and I could not have hoped for better. I believe each of you in time will be capable of helping me share the burden and joy of being humanities guardian." continued the Emperor

"Once the galaxy is safe for humanity and the fires of war have dimmed. I hope you will each take your rightful place at my side. As the human species champions, guardians and guides. You were each created as both masters of war and peace. Please never forget that my children. I do not know what we will face once we leave Sol. My sight of the future is not perfect and the Great Enemy does its best to obscure fate. So I can only ask each of you to be the Men you were meant to be and rejoin me here once our species is safe. Help me struggle against the dying of the light and ignite a new flame."

Each Primarch heard roughly the same message spoken, but each was slightly unique. Tweaked to reach them on a more individual level. Both to convey a father's love and motivate the Demigods. In that moment as his speech ended golden light erupted into the Emperor's vision. Time froze and psychic chains forged by a dead god snapped. The Emperor of Mankind felt a rush of memories and messages from the God-Emperor pour into him.

He stood before the Corpse-God once again. Staring into the glowing sockets that formed the desiccated deities eyes. The voice that could shatter planets echoed through his mind. "You have done well, raised them as your own. The Primarch Project has succeeded. It is logical we now share with you truths of the Twenty we deemed not fit for you originally."

The room spun and the Emperor found himself in the Luna Labs. Twenty gestation capsules surrounded him. The God-Emperor's voice continued: "It failed, the secondary purpose of the Primarchs failed. We imbued each with a spark of our emotions but they did not consume our humanity as we told you. The spark helped the unearthly power inside of them become human. We still held our compassion and other failings then. Casting them aside only occurred when we faced the Brightest Star."

Confusion and worry filled the Emperor's mind. He had been deceived, but for what purpose? Asking that question Revelation was met with silence. Until an answer came in the form of an Angel. The ghost of Sanguinius bloomed into being in the chamber. In a melodic yet powerful voice, it spoke to the Emperor: "You needed to be their father. Not their creator. Guilt and hope for redemption drive anyone, even you, to impossible heights. I am sorry for the deception but to ensure the shining path, it was necessary."

"So why did my counterpart act so callously to some? If he had his humanity could he not see the damage it was causing?" Responded the Emperor, glaring at the red-tear stained face of the IX Primarchs spirit.

Bowing his head in grief the Primarch-Specter whispered: "We were touched by the Primordial Annihilator when we flew through the Warp. Each tainted enough to open our hearts to Chaos. The Dark-Gods proclaimed half of us would be theirs. Our Emperor could not stop that destiny, only hope some would be preserved from damnation."

As those words left the mouth of the ghost it looked at Revelation and at that moment he saw the curse that stained the Great Angel. Sanguinus eyes became pure-black, windows to the nightmare of wrath that scaled his soul. Fangs designed to slit throats and guzzle blood flashed as he spoke. "If the gods were to claim half of us, the Emperor wanted the Lost and the Damned among us to fall."

A hint of bitter fury colored the Angel's words "In a game of cosmic Regicide against false-gods even the greatest pieces must be sacrificed to win."

The Red Thirst that colored the ghost faded and the Angel was once again himself. Warily Revelation asked: " So what did you gift me? Alongside the souls of this universes pure, you gifted me something? If it was not the essence of the fallen Primarchs, then what?!"

The Angel smiled softly and spoke: "We spoke the truth about the nature of that gift, just not its effects. You hold within you the power of Mankind's Hero's once again. Once that power was used for war, hopefully, the God-Emperor's Gift can be used in peace."

A million questions entered Revelations mind before he could ask any of them, light filled his vision. The golden aura soon faded and he found himself back on the Bucephalus, surrounded by his sons. No time had passed for the Legions Masters. Recovering and hiding any evidence of the vision the Emperor felt a sense of worry pass through him. The Corpse-Emperor was manipulating him, where did it start and where would it end? What did the Angel's Ghost mean by A gift for Peace? More mysteries to uncover. Hopefully before the False-God on the Throne did something truly Insane.

Hiding his distress the Emperor said his final words of wisdom to the Primarchs. The Father and Sons parted. Each Primarch returning to their flagship. Preparing to lead their Sons to the stars. The Galaxy was mankind's and all who stood in their way would submit or die. Humanity would, no, must ascend! The price of failure would be the death of everything. Chaos would burn in the Anathemas light or the universe would dissolve in insanity.

As the Fleet readied itself, awaiting the Emperor's command to launch. Insanity struck. More than a thousand vessels made up the initial Great Crusade expedition. On every single one of them, the Primordial Annihilator was unleashed. It was thankful the fleet was cushioned by the silence of the Void. Otherwise, the screams would have echoed all the way to Terra.

* * *

 _Location: The High Altar of the Four Phases: Near Lacus Doloris on Luna_  
 _Date: 813.M30 (Three Months since the First Legion left Sol for Ceres)_

Hidden away from the prying eyes of the Emperor's slaves the Creed of Four Phases had built a temple to their gods. A travesty of occult imagery, human sacrifice, and genetic horror. Resources had been siphoned from the glut filling Luna for the Legion creation. The Creed's followers of the Learner had many vat-grown mathematicians to help hide the cult's activities. In the nearly twenty-five years of its existence, the Creed had spread like cancer beneath Luna.

With each passing day, the loyalists became increasingly outnumbered. All without them knowing it. A hidden rebellion was rising against the Emperor. At the head of this religious insurgency was Sagitari-17. One of the first to be chosen by the Gods and the bearer of the twin artifacts. The Blade of Sacrifice and the Chalice of the Master were the holiest items of the newborn religion. With each victim, the Blade drank it grew in power. Soon it would prey upon the Emperor's own life-blood. The Chalice was a blood cloner of phenomenal complexity. Letting the sacred drop given by the Dark-Master be replicated over and over.

That Warp-Touched blood had been the center point of the Creeds plan. Trace amounts of it had contaminated every single Astartes Progenoid that passed through the Lunar Labs. This corruption sat within them, growing and winding into the Neophytes souls. Waiting for the signal to unleash its power. The time for that signal had come. With the launching of the Great Crusade, the Lunar Insurrection was ready to rise.

The first blow against the Tyrant of Terra would come not from blade or bomb. Instead by a ritual performed in the Creeds temple. This hidden cathedral to the Four Aspects was circular in shape. Capable of holding the thousands of cultists who faced the central altar in prayer. Elevated to the point the temple's ceiling needed to be domed, the High Altar was a place of great ritual power. Each cultist within the Temple focused their mental energies on the Altar and the ritual commencing on it.

Sagitari-17, the Chosen of the Four Aspects stood upon the Altar. With the Blade of Sacrifice held high above his head. All his devotion, loyalty, and service to the Four would worth it in a moment. The final part of the ritual to save the Primarchs children from the Emperor was underway. Great sorcery engines had been assembled to power the ascension of the Astartes. Weapons of flesh and steel were grown by the thousand in hidden Vaults of Luna. Yet the final component of the rebellions first blow was not an artifact or resources. It was something else stolen from the Gods by the Emperor. No, someone else stolen by the Tyrant. An abhuman minion of the Master of Terra who was fated to free himself and join the Gods. Somehow someway the Emperor had broken destiny and stole his pawn back from the Four. Now it was time for Sagitari-17 to return him to his rightful masters.

Zamora the Ancient Squat had served the Emperor for many long years. Fighting side by side during the Iron War and Unification of Terra. In that time doubts about the nature of his Liege and what he intended grew. Carefully nurtured by the Dark Gods of the Warp. If unaddressed those thoughts would have grown to treachery. Robbing the Anathema of a useful servant who could have changed the balance of fate. Somehow the Emperor saw the Gods schemes and saved his friend and alley from the pit. Promising salvation for his long-lost Hold-Kin and reaffirming the Squats faith in the Emperor.

This would not stand and the Dark Gods used their servants upon Luna to claim what they viewed as theirs. While on a secret mission for the Emperor to recover the last important artifacts on Luna he had been captured by the cultists. Dozens of gene-warriors and sorcerers were cut down by the hardened abhuman before he was subdued. Now he lay bound upon the Altar which was stained black with the blood of thousands.

Sagitari-17 awaited the tides of destiny to shift, he would offer the traitor to the gods up at the perfect moment. When the Tyrant prepared to leave Sol and conquer the galaxy his doom would be unleashed. The death and sacrifice of a divine-servant stolen would provide the power needed to unleash the Four Aspects wrath. The Lunar Priest-Lord looked down on the bound and gagged Squat. His greatly enhanced immaterial powers let him watch the abhumans emotions flicker and battle each other as it spat muffled curses. Fury, despair, adrenaline and panicked hope flared through the Squats body and brain. A perfect offering to the Four.

Feeling the moment arrive, when fate entered one of its grand crossroads. Sagitari-17 brought the obsidian blade down while screaming prayers to the Four: "Frurndar-Hashut! Leth-Phaos! Ksy-Chamon!"

The ritual blade ripped into the Squats heart. Severing its muscle-strings and splattering the Abhumans ichor all over the Altar. Zamora died with a roar of bloody vengeance. His wrathful bellows turning to gurgles as death took him. Sagitari-17 watched the now tainted soul of Zamora Gortrekzon, the Ancient Squat of Clan Kaddrin scream into the depths of the Warp. Where the Dark Master Be'lakor captured it, preparing to use it in the Great War against the Anathema.

Before Zamora's life-blood had stopped flowing reality trembled. Space/Time twitched in disgust as the Primordial Annihilator was unleashed. The Warp-Rip deep within Luna widened maddenly. Letting the raw stuff of Chaos flow into Terra's Moon. Great Psi-Machines of mutation and madness captured and unleashed the power. Feeding Chaos into the veins of each and every tainted Astartes. The material strained and ripped under the stress. Even this close to the Anathema's fire warp-rifts opened up. From Sol to the Kuiper belt the forces of Insanity poured into realspace.

Ramshackle fleets of the Lost and the Damned accompanied by Daemonic Patrons prepared to strike the Imperiums Heart. The Astronomicon had provided a beacon of sanity to the pure remnants of mankind. For the fallen, it signaled a march to war. Now a mad crusade of Chaos, assembled from throughout the galaxy was unleashed. Lunar Sorcerers transmitted knowledge to the dark hordes and unleashed the Cults armies upon the Loyalists. Chaos had come to Sol.

* * *

 _Location: Command Deck of the Tiber-Prince. Current Flagship of the XVI Legion  
Date: 813.M30 (Three Months since the First Legion left Sol for Ceres)_

Ezekyle Abaddon had been recruited into the XVI Legion after surviving gene-seed implantation. The genetic material of the XVI Primarch had taken to him phenomenally. Abaddon was stronger, faster, tougher and smarter than virtually any other recruit. He had rocketed to the position of Chapter Master Abbadon XVI-I-II-0-0-Cohort-Alpha. Which in plain gothic meant he lead the second chapter of the first formation.

Now he and the other Legion elite stood aboard the Tiber-Princes command deck. Their Primarch had returned and now the XVI Legion awaited to order to launch. Anticipation crackled between the Astartes, mortals, and Tech-Priests that manned the Bridge. The Great Crusade was about to ignite. Horus Lupercali: The XVI Primarch rose from his command throne at the beckoning of some psionic signal. Raising his Sword up he declared: "The Galaxy will be Mankinds! We the Emperor's Angels of Death will conquer it for our species. This has been decreed by the Master of Mankind and none shall stand in our way! FOR THE EMPEROR AND MANKIND!"

A resounding cheer echoed throughout the ship and its kin as each Primarch gave similar addresses. Master Abaddon along with the other Legion elite raised their fists in triumph. Roaring out: "For the Primarch! For the Emperor! for Mankind!"

The great Warp-Drives of the fleet began to rumble as they ignited. Ready to pierce the fabric of space/time and carry the Imperium to its destiny. All while cheers and cries of celebration echoed. At that moment the fell ritual occurring within Luna completed. Zamora's soul thundered into the Warp. Causing a wave of chaos to ripple through the tides of fate. These waves in the Sea of Souls echoed out, all the way to the Fleet and beyond. Master Abaddon did not know this, he did not know that a taint in his very flesh was keyed into this Warp-wave. What Abaddon did know was a blood-curdling scream filled the bridge, and he was the source of it.

Intense, mind-shattering pain filled Abaddon's mind. It felt like his blood was on fire and his bones had become jagged iron. Daemonic ichor attacked his nerves and seeped into his brain. Where it fed visions of grimdarkness into the Astartes mind.

*A talon that tasted the blood of Gods, Angels, and Daemons upon his right hand.*

*The End of Empires calling out to him, its rightful master.*

*Demi-Gods bound to the Warps masters kneeling before him.*

*Legions, old and new serving his every whim. A weapon of unstoppable conquest and power*

*The very gods themselves dueling for his favor. For he was Warmaster of Chaos!*

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" howled Abaddon. The dark temptations of the Warp wavered as he fought the visions. Even as his flesh twisted and the Gods of Chaos whispered promises of dominion to him Abaddon stood firm. He knew it was lies and evil. Ezekyle Abaddon had been chosen to defend humanity. To be its guardian not its enslaver. Screaming in pain and fury the Man who once was destined to Despoil the Galaxy rejected Chaos utterly. Abaddon would protect his tribe, not matter how large from the Predators in the Dark.

Abaddon's soul dueled the corruption in his flesh. Working with the spiritual and biological augments afforded to the Angels of Death to resist the Dark Masters power. After nearly a minute of this miniature war fought on the psychic and cellular level Abaddon turned the tide. The corruption was pushed back. Self-Control and dominion of self bested Chaos. Driving it out of his body.

With a roar of righteous fury Abaddon the Redeemer, as he would be known from this moment on vomited up the corruption. Leaving a mass of twitching, whispering Daemonic filth on the Bridges deck. With utter disdain he brought his armored boot down on it, crushing the warp-tumor. Spitting up a few more gobbets of blood the Astartes Champion slumped to one knee. His internal organs were ravaged, his muscles frayed and bones chipped. With pained effort, Abaddon pulled himself to his feet and looked around the Bridge.

Every one of his Brothers suffered from the Warp-taint. Some screamed others ripped at their armor and flesh. A few even stood perfectly still, dueling the madness in perfect quietness. Abaddon was the first to break the dark-spell. What he did not know was he was the first Astartes in the entire fleet to free himself. Gritting his teeth and fighting the pain Abaddon stumbled over to his closet brother. A Captain who screamed curses at a "False Emperor." Grabbing the gibbering Astartes by the shoulders Abaddon said the first thing that came into his mind. A phrase buried in his psyche by an encounter with an Old Priest. With utter certainty, he told his suffering gene-kin "The Emperor Protects! And so do we!"

Those words broke through the curse and caused the maddened Astartes to grab Abaddons arms. At that moment the Battle-Brothers held each other and repeated over and over "The Emperor Protects" after a few trembling moments the Captain expelled the taint from himself and slumped over. Abaddon checked his brother's vitals and moved onto the next stricken Astartes. As he did he noticed a few other figures doing similar. Other Battle-Brothers that had freed themselves after him. Abaddon recognized Hastur Sejanus, Iacton Qruze, and Severian De'lupe among their number. Desperately Abaddon looked around for his Genefather. The Primarch was still seated on his command throne. His great gauntlets crushing the thrones armrests. A look of incredible concentration on his face. Psychic electricity lashed out from Horus. Whatever madness tormented the Legion was being battled by their Father.

Abaddon stumbled towards the Primarch, as he did Horus's eyes shot open and locked onto him. They were not the usual kind but strong eyes of the XVI Primarch but molten balls of golden fire. Eyes Abaddon had only seen once before, and would never forget. The Master of Mankind was speaking through his son.

In fact, each of the twenty demigods spoke the same message to their legions. Sent by the Emperor to his Astartes grandchildren. "The Enemy in the Warp attacks, hold strong and believe in yourself. For Humanity and the Imperium!"

The message rippled through the Astartes of the fleet. Some felt its full effect and were freed from the chaotic visions, others felt a whisper in their psyche as the torment continued. Abaddon had rid himself of most of the taint but it infested his very genetics. It gnawed at his organs and lit up his nerves in agony. He paid it little heed as he rallied his brothers. Pulling them from the visions.

Through force of will and bonds of brotherhood the XVI legions elite steadily freed themselves from the Dark Gods grip. Visions that would have driven even the mightiest heroes of humanity to the darkness were resisted. Thanks to the hypnomat techniques developed from Abaddon's childhood encounter with the Last Priest. Along with the soul-links that bound each legionnaire to their Anathema empowered Primarchs almost every Astartes could resist the corruption. Almost every Astartes, not all of them….

Captain Lanartor Voalar could not face the darkness. He was the only one on the Tiber-Prince's bridge to fall. A little more than 2% of all infected Astartes embraced the Four and turned their back on mankind. Volar and the other damned fell not because the rituals of Luna or any omnipotent will of the Gods. They were damned simply because they were weak. In comparison to mortal men, they were invincible and incorruptible. To the standard set by the Master of Mankind, they were found lacking. When evil offered them power in exchange for their species soul the damned gladly accepted. Proving that even superhumans rise to the occasion or fail utterly.

Voalar sold his soul for a chance to walk the Path of Glory. All the arcane energy that was meant to corrupt and mutate the entire Legions was pushed into him and his fellow failures. The psycho-genetic taint the Lunar Cultists had infected the Astartes with should have acted as an anchor. A stain upon their bodies and soul born of the First Daemon Prince's blood. The energy pulled from the Warp Rift and channeled through the occult rituals would then have used the stain to mutate and utterly ruin the Astartes. Turning them into horrors akin to veterans of the God-Emperor's Long War. Those who could resist Chaos's mental attacks were physically damaged by the corruption but not claimed by the Dark Gods. Leaving the massive amount of Warp Energy to fill only a few vessels.

Lesser mortals would have been violated into Chaos Spawn or worse. Yet even these failures of Astartes were Astartes. The ritual energy turned them into avatars of Chaos. Exalted Daemon hosts born to kill. Captain Voalar embraced Chaos and it embraced him. His armor fused to his flesh and became more like a insects armor than ceramite. The jawline that looked so similar to Horus's own was split into a pair of acid-soaked mandibles. Two eyes became four then six. Muscle, bone, and neurons were rewired and glutted with insanity.

In only a few moments the Astartes Captain of the XVI Legion once known as Lanartor Voalar was gone. In his place was a Primarch sized insectoid horror that's very flesh oozed corruption. Sixteen lesser Daemons of each God inhabited the body. Working together in a concert of malice. It's sudden appearance and the waves of revulsion that poured off it stunned even the recovered Astartes on the bridge. A few mortals who had so far resisted the insanity started screaming in horror at the sight.

After getting its bearings the Daemon-Host locked onto its target. Primarch Horus Lupercali, who still sat motionless in the command throne, assisting his father in some great task. Moving at reality bending speeds the Daemon-host charged Horus. Ready to sink its cursed talons into the Demigods flesh. Two Astartes close to the Primarch charged to intercept the creature. Ezekyle Abaddon and Iacton Qruze. The second and sixth Chapter Masters of the First and Fourth formation respectably. The twin battle-brothers. One a battered veteran of Terran and Chthonian wars, the other heir to the XVI Primarch in every sense.

The two Astartes blitzed the Daemon-Host form either side. Crackling Power Swords pierced the beast's sides. It let out a foul screech and swatted at the Battle-Brothers. It was clumsy and savage. Unused to the limitations of the materium. Any full Battle-Brother of the Legio Astartes would have been able to parry the blow. Unfortunately, both Abaddon and Qruze were bruised and bloody. Each barely managed to dance out of claw reach. Nicking their armor and leaving a nasty scar on Abaddon's left cheek.

With each second the Daemon-Host became more accustomed to the Materium. It grew in strength and speed as the already wounded Astartes tired. Still, they fought on, hacking away at muscle and bone. Until the Host struck out with a taloned foot. The blow caught Qruze square in the chest. Launching the Astartes nearly thirty feet into a row of consoles. Iactons chestplate and ribs were pulverized. Luck and the Primarchs genetics stopped the blow from popping his lungs. Coughing up blood and flecks of excised mutation Qruze attempted to rejoin the fight. Blood filling his left lung and nearly every alarm his Power Armor possessed going off in response to his movement dissuaded him. Rapidly losing conscious the Chapter Master swore a bloody oath of vengeance against the Dark forces of the Warp.

Ezekyle Abaddon now stood alone against the Daemon-host. His body and blade ready to break in defense of his Genefather. A wet noise one could interpret as laughter escaped the Hosts mouth. Its arms split into four limbs with a disgusting crack. Then the host's talons fused together into massive envenomed blades. The toxin leaking from the blades was an old favorite of the Dark Gods. It had first been synthesized by the Kinebarch Empire, in their war against the Aeldari. Even with it they had still lost and fell into the Plaguefathers embrace. It was a terrible mixture of material and psionic components created for a singular purpose. To kill gods. It had felled Horus Lupercal and Roboute Guilliman in another universe. Now it was aimed at Abaddon and his Genefathers neck.

The Daemon-Host lashed out at the Astartes with all four bladed limbs. Abaddon was skilled and strong yet could only defend against the onslaught. The flurry of swords seemed everywhere at once. If he blocked one or even two another slipped through his guard and racked his armor. A score of cuts that even his enhanced flesh could not seal steadily covered his body. The first injury he had suffered, the scratch on his cheek still bled, and some part of Abaddon knew it would never heal properly.

Still, he fought on. Hoping to delay the monster just a second longer. The Host tried to sidestep Abaddon and continue to the Primarch, with a howl of rage the Astartes lunged after it. In doing so he fell for its feint. Two blades caught his Power-Sword and the other two rammed into his Lungs. Great jagged edges ripped Abaddons flesh and the Creature picked him by the impaling blades. The Daemon-Host lifted the limp Abaddon above his head and let the Astartes blood dribble into its fiendish maw. Other Astartes who had stood back till now, fearing to interrupt Abaddon's concentration charged now. The Creatures two unoccupied arms batted them away as it fed.

In that moment when all four of the Daemonhosts arms were occupied Abaddon came to life. A pulse of steroids, synth-flesh and combat drugs from his Revitalizer Organ pushed the Astartes wounded biology into overdrive. Abaddon had held tight to his sword even while on the edge of death waiting for this moment. He did not waste it. A crackle of energy was the only warning the monster once known as Captain Lanartor Voalar got. Abaddon the Redeemer stabbed his sword into the meeting of the Hosts neck and shoulder. The sword ripped through armor and into muscle and vein.

Toxic blood splattered Abaddon's armor as he pushed the blade deeper. The Daemon-Host roared and fury and tossed the badly wounded Astartes off its blades. Abaddon landed in a heap of broken bones and armor next to the Command throne. Ezekyle fought against the encroaching darkness with everything he had left. Maintaining consciousness was all he could do. The Host stalked towards Horus as it pulled Abaddon's blade from its body. Two arms lay limp at its side. Daemonic energy worked to reknit muscle and bone but the damage was severe. Foul insectoid laughter echoed from its mandibles. The XVI Primarch was always doomed to be a sacrifice. This reality would be no different. It raised its last two blades high and prepared to strike down Horus Lupercali. Abaddon let out a bloody howl as the blades descended.

Then near instantly the Daemon-host was sent flying backward. Faster than both Astartes and Daemonhost could process Horus had risen from his throne and struck the monster that had once been his son. Wearing intricate alabaster Terminator armor and wielding a great Power-mace the Primarch looked every bit a God of War. Horus charged the Daemonhost. His bolter spitting death and his Mace crackling with esoteric power. Bolt-shells detonated inside the creature as it tried to recover from the first blow. It hissed and spat as its arms uselessly attempted to deflect the earth-shattering blows of Horus's mace.

Roaring with elemental fury the Primarch brought his mace down on the Hosts head. Smashing its skull to pieces. Even with its brain splattered across the deck, it managed to howl a few final curses and taunts in the dark tongue of the Warp. With calm disdain, Horus knocked it to the ground and brought his boot down on the Hosts chest cavity. Turning its organs into a black sludge. Almost as an afterthought Horus whispered a psionic mantra and ignited the Daemonhosts body with pyrokinesis.

Looking over to Abaddon the Primarch approached his son. Placing his great armored hand on the injured lieutenants shoulder he spoke: "You did well my son, I am proud of you"

Psychic energy poured from Primarch to Astartes, healing injuries and purifying the venom. Once Abaddon was in a stable condition Horus walked to the center of the Bridge and proclaimed both verbally and psysically to the broader crew: "The enemies of mankind wish to murder the Imperium in its crib! They do this because they fear us! They fear the righteous fury of humanity resurgent! They shall fail today and the next! For we are the Emperor's chosen and our duty is to mankind! Prepare to counter-attack! The Angels of Death have come!"

* * *

 _Location: The Deck of the Bucephalus_  
 _Date: 813.M30 (36 seconds since the Chaos wave struck the fleet.)_

Reality trembled as the veil between Material and Immaterial was ripped. Thousands of warp-rifts dotted the Solar System. With entire fleets of the Lost and the Damned spewing forth from the largest cracks. Blood-Borne madness infects the Legions and sought to cripple them. The laughter of thirsting gods echoed through the minds of every citizen of the Imperium. The forces of Chaos struck.

Chaotic power and Anathema light dueled around the rifts. Hordes of Daemons tried to squirm through into the Materium. Only to be driven screaming back into the pit by the Emperor's light. Only the mightiest shards of the gods could join their insane servants in this attack. Daemon Princes and dark Heralds leading the charge of twisted worshippers. Countless species and cultures had fallen during the Long Night. Consciously or not they had become servants of ruin. Seeking to loot Terra and cast down the Emperor and any threat he posed. While ramshackle and cursed, their fleet was massive. Entire battle fleets poured from the Warp-Rifts. Each seeking to despoil the Solar system.

As this madness unfolded the Master of Mankind witnessed it from aboard his Flagship. The Dark Gods expected him to feel fear or disappointment. The single thought that crossed the Emperor's mind was: "It seems they are early"

The Emperor had known what the Dark Gods intended to unleash upon the young Imperium. It was a clever ploy. To corrupt the Astartes and burn the Solar system in Warp-Fyre. The Emperor and his inner circle had prepared for this day. Many contingencies had been set in place. The Astartes were mightier and wiser than the God-Emperors Angels. Knowledge gained from the Dark timeline and the Emperor's own genius had ensured that only the foulest dredges of the Legions fell.

This was early. The Emperor had assumed the strike would occur once the Legions had left Sol. Crippling the supply lines of the Great Crusade and butchering the Imperiums Throneworld. That would have been the strategic move. Instead, they struck when the full might of the Great Crusade still dwelled within Sol. This was not arrogance or a tactical misstep. It simply made a better story. For the Gods to strike down the Anathema at the eve of his retaliation against the Cosmos.

The Solar System was not quite repaired enough to stand against the Chaotic hordes like The Emperor originally intended. The might of the Legions would make up for this. Even so, there had already been tragic losses. The Emperor felt the deaths of millions as orbital stations and Void-Habitats were devoured by feral swarms of cultists. Even his old friend Zamora had fallen in a Dark Ritual. That had not been expected, and tranquil fury rose in the Emperor's breast at the thought. Zamora would be avenged and his legacy would be honored.

Feeling the sinister attentions of the Gods upon him the Emperor's face was marred by a snarl. Rising from his command throne he contacted the Primarchs and other elite of the Imperium. Orders were given for mortal Admirals to confront the oncoming Black Crusade. The Alarm was raised and Auxilia regiments prepared for invasion across Sol. Already word of a tunnel war beneath Luna was reaching the fleet. An emergency psychic pulse was sent to Malcador to ready the weapon that would win this first battle.

Before that, the immediate danger must be dealt with. Mustering the god-like power that dwelt within him the Emperor prepared to seal the cracks in reality. The rituals used were powerful, capable of ripping open the veil despite the Astronomicon's proximity. That needed to be rectified. Psychically reaching out to the Primarchs the Emperor asked for his son's assistance. Which they gladly gave, even as their own sons faced torment. The Primarchs were indeed warriors but also Generals. They understood the necessity of harsh actions. Bolstered by his sons and using them to better direct the Astronomicon and the Imperial Military. The Emperor started to weld the tears shut.

Psychic flames hotter than a Supernova, empowered by trillions of righteous souls burned away the wounds in the universe. As their sons fought for their sanity the Primarchs fought the only war that mattered. Through force of will, the Emperor and Primarchs pushed the taint of Chaos back into the Immaterial. Fighting against the great Psi-Engines of Luna and the will of the Dark Gods themselves. A war was being fought on three fronts. The Imperial Auxillia and allies dueled against the Chaos Rebellion. The Astartes fought the corruption within them and the Primarchs struggled to seal the rifts. The Emperor lead his forces on all three fronts in some shape or form.

Steadily headway was being made on two of the three fronts. Abaddon himself broke free of the madness and was soon followed by the Azhek brothers, Nathaniel Garro and other Astartes of a unique destiny. With a few words of comfort, he left the Astartes to their struggle. The Legions would ascend or plummet on their own merit. The rifts were proving difficult but possible to close. The Emperor provided the raw power and his sons the concentration to put it to use. A metaphor for many of the relationships between the Primarch and their father. The smaller rifts were already starting to be burned away. The larger ones were shrinking, slowing the flow of enemy ships. Through the Astronomicon the Emperor could see the entire battle. Psychically directing his generals and admirals like pieces on a regicide board.

Through Herculean effort, the Emperor and Primarchs stabilized the rifts. Only the largest was still open, and enemy ships could barely squeeze through them one at a time. A smile crossed the Emperor's face as he watched the Lost and the Damned learn this while leaving a rift near Mercury. A Khornate vessel had tried to rush the rift as a flock of Slaaneshi Asp-Barges jostled to exit the warp. The ensuing mess of warp-stuff adamantium and rapidly mutating crew-beings was spat into the Immaterium. Another space-hulk to pollute the galaxy.

For the tears, in reality, to be fully shut the source of them must be destroyed. The Lunar Cult would be purged with fire and steel. Their blasphemous technology ruined and a warning to those who would delve too deep made of the survivors. The Auxilia and Navy were doing their best to stem the tide of Chaos invasion forces. They would not win this battle, that role fell to his Angels of Death.

The Astartes had recovered from the infection quite well. Fabius and the other elite Genewrights had predicted 5-10% would fall. Only 2% had fallen to the psychological effects and maybe another 1% would be too mutated to be salvaged. The rest would be tempered by War and strong enough to face the darkness. Now the Legio Astartes would face the forces of Chaos and defend Sol. With the rifts shutting down the Primarchs could lead their legions into the fray. The majority would be required to win the Void-War. Three would be sent to Luna. The XI, XIII and XVI Legions were chosen for this task. Due to their specialties and the below average casualties suffered from the Chaos corruption.

Word was sent to the three Primarchs and their fleets split ahead from the rest of the assembled force. The other seventeen legions and accompanying forces would fan out and take on the Invasion. While allowing the selected three to run the blockade. The Bucephalus would follow them. Traveling a highly visible route assisting the Imperium with its guns and Custodes borders. The Bucephalus being a virtually indestructible Capital-Ship guarded by fleets of Custodes escorts would make itself a very large target. Focusing the invaders, and destroying any cohesion they possessed. The opportunity to strike at the Anathema would entrap the servants of Chaos. This would allow the Imperium to know the Master of Mankind lived and lead the fight.

The XI, XIII and XVI Legions would strike Luna hard and fast. Purging the cult and destroying the Psi-Engines keeping the rifts open. Then once the Bucephalus reached Luna, the Emperor would re-seal the wound in space/time that had almost stolen the Primarchs. Giving his orders the Emperor peered into the Immaterium and looked into the nightmarish abyss that was the Gods. As the Great Crusade Fleet opened fire and atomized thousands of blood-crazed zealots he spoke to the Four in the Warp. "Your time is at an end"

* * *

Location _: Neologian Reeducation Camp (Lacus Spei, Luna)_  
 _Date: 813.M30 ( Six hours since the battle for Luna began)_

War is Hell. An ancient and ever accurate adage. When matters of the Warp are concerned the saying becomes far too literal. As the defenders of Luna were quick discovering. The madness of unreality had surged across the Sol system and was centered around Terra's moon. Neverborn seeped into the Materium. Saved from the Astronomicons fire by blasphemous wards. They joined the ecstatic cultists of the Four Phases in open warfare against Imperial Authority. The Luna Auxillia and Arbites quickly found themselves vastly outnumbered before they discovered nearly a quarter of them were traitors. Loyal Lunar clans and other civilians were captured and fed into grotesque engines of extermination. Sacrifices to summon and bind Neverborn to nightmarish flesh-beasts sculpted for their inhabitation.

These warp-weapons of horrific nature were in a way a double-edged sword. It provided the rebel soldiers and tools only the Astartes and Priests of Mars could match. Yet the very presence of the Daemons and Daemonhosts ripped away any semblance of order or control the rebellion once held. Strategy was cast aside and the Four Phase cultists fought each other almost as much as they did the Loyalists. The dark-gods twisting their minds stripped them of self-control and turned the smallest disagreements into paranoid blood feuds. The sheer evil and foulness of their practices inspired the loyalists to fight harder than thought possible and some collaborators to switch sides. It was one thing to hear Imperial Propaganda about the evils of the universe, quite another to watch it disembowel a loved one.

Even with their newfound resolve the Defenders were outnumbered and outgunned to an extreme degree. The Orbital superiority of the traitor forces prevented Terran reinforcements. So pockets of loyalists had gathered together at defensible positions. Hoping to weather the storm of Chaos. One of the larger loyal holdouts had set up shop in the Neologian Reeducation Camp. A mixture of hospital and prison where extrasolar refugees were brought into the light of the Imperial Truth.

Most of the Emperor worshipping cults originating on Terra and beyond had been quashed hear. It was also the holding ground of the most ardent group of zealots to the Astronomicon. The Bearers of the Saving Light, lead by the Psyker-Saint Petronilla Dorovna. Dorovna was in her mid-thirties now. An incredibly skilled orator and leader. Who through nearly twenty years of isolation on Luna had kept the faith alive among her nearly five thousand strong cult. In their eyes, she had saved them from the Green-skin barbarians that claimed their homeworld and shepherd them through the Warp. A generation of fairly comfortable imprisonment in order to prove their faith was something they could withstand. If Moshe could wander the deserts of Gypt for 44 years they could as well.

So when the 7th Lunar Garrison Auxilia took over the Reeducation camp they found a veritable stock of fanatically loyal reinforcements in the prisoners. They wanted to prove their devotion through strength of arms and the Garrison was happy to have the help. Now Dorovna wielding a salvaged power-sword lead her followers into the breach. Screaming mad hymns to the Emperor and Astronomicon. Righteous fury and religious zealotry made up for their lack of training. The Garrison soldiers were broken up by squad and assigned to a company of Imperial Zealots Their better gear and skill allowing them to direct their new allies. The Zealots fought with whatever was at hand. Las-Rifles from the Camps armory and repurposed mining equipment were popular options.

Saint Petronilla had not earned that title from sheer charisma alone. She was a Psyker and a powerful one at that. Part of a rare breed who could synchronize their souls to the Astronomicon and wield its power. This manifested in an aura of blinding light that invigorated the untainted and burned the Neverborn. A faint mimicry of the Astronomicons source. Moving at superhuman speeds, with her sword aflame with holy-fire she cut a trial of fire and steel through the Daemons and traitors. All throughout the battle when she was not leading a Battle-Hymn she whispered to herself the phrase that had echoed through her mind since the day the Astronomicon had toucher her soul. In a voice like golden-thunder, it told her "Have Faith"

She would, no matter what. The Emperor had guided her to Terra and now she knew why. She would fight against the horrors and lead them to victory. She could hear the mantra like a drumbeat in her head. As she fought harder and harder she swore more of it filtered into her mind. It had never occurred to her that she could only hear part of it. Desperate to hear more words of the divine she charged past the frontline. Ripping into the horde of cultists and Daemon-hosts.

Even with her psychically enhanced abilities, she was still a young woman with no experience in the art of war. She made the mistake many devout warriors do. Having too much faith in divine protection and not enough respect for military strategy. By overextending she could be easily enveloped. Her strength and speed were not enough as the clawing talons of Daemons pulled her down. Even as her presence burned them they stabbed into her. Ripping at her improvised armor, desperate to sink their fangs into the flesh of one favored by the Anathema. Such an act would earn them divine favor. Panic filled her heart as a mutated hand ripped her sword away and the weight of neverborn-inhabited flesh locked her limbs in place.

Petronilla babbled prayers as she fought against the monsters. A twisted face met her eyes and giggled as it spoke: "He can't hear you morsel! Only the true gods can hear you and they want you to scream!"

For a faint moment the fire of faith insider her flickered. She had faith, incomparable faith, and despoilment and damnation in this stinking tunnel would be her faith. The Emperor had told her to have faith, why then would she be forsaken? It was in that horrible moment the full message reacher Petronilla. It struck like a lightning bolt and rattled her soul.

 **"** **HAVE FAITH IN EACH OTHER!"**

As it thundered into her mind Las-bolts and Promethium flames burned away the Daemons around her. With battle-cries and curses, the 7th Lunar Garrison came to her rescue. Hacking away at the Daemons and with their Colonel helping her to her feet. As she looked upon them she saw the truth. The Emperor was mighty and wise, but not a god. He nor any other being was. Faith alone was useless. Faith must be used and faith in each other could protect and bind people together.

This insight granted her new power, she could see the links of brotherhood and trust between the Soldiers. Feel the conviction they had in their cause. No, not just feel it, use it. Picking up her sword she tapped into the emotions the soldiers and her followers felt. Compassion, Strength, Hope, and Love in their purest and most righteous form empowered her. She turned to the next wave of impure filth that charged their position. Raising her battered weapon high she proclaimed: "FOR EMPEROR AND IMPERIUM!"

A wave of golden fire erupted from her as she swung her sword. An inferno fueled by all that was good in humanity. It burnt the Daemons and cultists on both planes. Cultists were atomized and their souls destroyed. Denying the Dark Gods their prize. The Daemons were sent screaming back into the abyss. Psychic-Burn scars marring them for the rest of their existence. Hundreds of fiends destroyed, it gave the next wave of attackers pause. A pause the defenders of the Reeducation camp took full advantage of. A firing line of death covered Petronilla and her rescuers retreat. With her empowered abilities and newfound understanding, the once-saint would lead the defense for nine more hours. When their faith would be rewarded and the Emperor's angels brought salvation through fire, blood, and steel.


	25. Chapter 20: The Lunar Crusade

**Chapter Twenty: The Lunar Crusade**

 _Location: The Tri-Legion Fleet in Luna Orbit_  
 _Date: 813.M30 ( Nine hours since the battle for Luna_ began _)_

The XI, XIII and XVI Legions had smashed through the pseudo-blockade of Chaos vessels and charged to Luna. The VII Legion had helped them punch through the enemy fleet, and were now busy keeping it from attacking the three legions rear and defending Terran Void-space. Safe from tainted raiders. Luckily for the Imperial Invaders, the civil war within the Moon prevented any meaningful orbital defense. Once separated from the Chaos Hordes the full might of three Astartes Legions could be easily unleashed upon the traitors.

While they had directed their fleet, the Primarchs telepathically communicated in order to create a strategy. The psionic-link connecting their souls did not simply protect them from Chaos, but allowed the Brothers to mentally communicate over vast distances easily. A powerful boon in Void-Warfare.

Each Legion would play to their specialty in the battle. The XIII would form the main bulk of the offense, their numbers, and tactical flexibility would allow them to wage war across the entire Moon. This offense would be complemented by XI Legion strike forces inserted into the XIII battle lines, providing the main force a powerful sword and shield against Maleficarum. Horus had subdivided his legion for two similar roles. Half would deep strike into loyalist-held territory and assist the defenders until the main force arrived, then add their numbers to the pacification. The other half would engage in decapitation strike against the Enemy leadership, splitting off from each other the Legion vessels entered orbit all across the Moon. Lacking any atmosphere to speak of, the Ships could safely anchor only a few kilometers above the Lunar surface. By now, a few Cultists had managed to scramble together Void-Defenses. Opening fire with powerful batteries, and even launching into Space within stolen imperial transports. They barely had time to launch the first volleys before their doom arrived.

As one the three fleets opened fire upon the Lunar surface, Kinetic and Energy projectiles obliterated weapon emplacements. The stolen transports barely left Lunar ground before shot-cannon blasts of Flak pulped both them and their occupants. This thunderous display of firepower was a small percentage of the Fleets destructive potential. They wanted Luna intact once the battle was over after all. So the second barrage was of a far more precise and deadly variety.

Almost a million Astartes rained down upon Luna. The combined might of three Astartes Legions arrived in a rain of fire and iron. Drop Pods and Stormbirds descended in wave after wave of Imperial Fury. The sheer number and intensity of the Assault was not strictly necessary, yet the images recorded by lunar loyalists and fleet remembrancer would echo for generations. Propaganda can be as effective as bolter or blade if used correctly.

Among the Stormbirds was a unique vessel. A custom made stead for a demigod. The Quadriga-Maxius was the personal Dropship of Marcus Augustio: The XIII Primarch. Backed by his Praetor Guards and Four Hundred Thousand Astartes, he marched to War. Arriving at the gates of Port Luna the XIII Legion had come and nothing could stop them.

The first goal of the Lunar offense was taking control of Port Luna. The massive naval base took up most of Kepler Crater. If conquered the Rebels would lose total Void control. The Docks and fortifications would provide the Loyalists the ultimate beachhead if they could take it. Under normal circumstances the idea of sieging something like Port Luna would be an absurd idea. These were not normal circumstances. Demi-Gods clothed in transhuman flesh battled the forces of insanity.

The XIII Legion stood before the Gates. Thousands of Astartes and accompanying vehicles stood ready for the order to attack. Their sinister equivalents stood atop the Ports battlements and Fort-Spires. Legions of Flesh-Beasts, Daemonhosts and Lunar Cultists baying for blood. The maddest and most violent warriors of Luna had been sent to the Port. The elite of the Four Phases had expected the Assault and herded their most vicious members here. The turrets and fortifications would exhaust the Emperors thralls. Then once they broke into the fortress the feral Chaos hordes contained within would butcher them.

It was a simple but effective strategy that relied on two factors: The durability of Port Luna's defenses, and a powerful Champion of the Gods. The Champion would through fear, fury and charisma keep the feral servants from diving into the battle to early. Some of the more vicious and insane Chaos-Berserkers would have happily dived off the mountain sized battlements, chasing foul glory.

The Champion selected for this honor stood above the massive gate. Peering down at the invaders like so many Warlords and Tyrant-Kings before him. He was a Daemon Prince of power and pedigree. Known to his foes and allies as Zaubernox. Chosen of all Four Gods of the Warp. He had ended his entire species to walk the path of glory. Summoned forth into the body of an eager servant he had corralled the chaos hordes and was eager to test his mettle against the Primarch.

Unfortunately for Zaubernox the Demigod he faced was not one for glorious duels. Marcus Augistio was a practical man who understood that a siege would be costly. While he was confident the Daemon Prince would fall to his Power-Gladius, he felt it was unnecessary and a waste of precious time and resources. So, when the Warp-traitor howled psychic challenge and curses down from the battlements, he simply contacted his flagship. After a few moments of calculation and assessment he settled on a course of action.

Horus and his Legion teleported deep into Luna and was rapidly drawing much of the defenders attention. XI Legion pilots from their Eighth Formation were busy distracting the orbital and anti-void defenses so the rest of their Legion could make their move. This gave Marcus an opportunity to complete his objective efficiently. Arrangements were made and he approached the Super-Titan sized gate. Neither side opened fire as the Primarch raised his hands and mustered his psychic power. Being an average Psyker among the Primarchs, he knew what he was about to do would be rather draining. Ironically, the thinning of realspace allowed him to draw additional power from the Warp. Further proving his father's teachings that the Warp belonged to mankind, not the False-Gods.

Glancing up to Zaubernox Marcus responded to the Daemon Prince for the first time. "The Gate can be Replaced"

Before the infernal lord upon the battlements could understand the messages meaning, his doom struck. A single Lunar Class Cruiser of the XIII Legion fleet had positioned itself above Port Luna's main gate. It fired a super-charged Lance Beam upon the Gate. In the exact moment it struck, the XIII Primarch used his incredible power to evaporate the Void-Shield protecting the Gate. Like the wrath of the Emperor himself, the Lance beam seared the Gate into nothingness. Its metal and stone structure became ash, then atoms. Zaubernox was cast screaming back into the Warp before he could even register what happened. Where once a mighty Bastion-gate stood was now an dusty crater.

Panic, confusion and blood-rage filled the minds of the Ports defenders. Their master was gone in a blast of searing fire. Where once the gate stood was now a pillar of lunar dust. They had little time to gather themselves when judgement arrived. Through the rapidly cooling breach the XIII Legion charged. With their Primarch at their head they were unstoppable. They flooded into Port-Luna in a tide of blue armor. A that fought with transhuman efficiency. The chaos defenders were smashed apart with ruthless precision.

Gene-Bulked beings that had once being kin to Ogryns leapt at the Thirteenth Legion's phalanxes and were cut down by bolter fire. Swarms of cultists in stolen void-suits were eviscerated beams of volkite energy and some met their fate when they were sucked into the freezing, unforgiving void. Factory farmed Chaos Spawn mobbed Mech-Suit wearing Astartes and were pummeled by thunder hammers. At every turn the XIII Legion smashed aside the corrupted defenders.

Even through the dust filled chaos that was becoming the battle of the Gate Marcus Augistio noticed a peculiar pattern. A scant number of enemy combatants were scurrying from the fight. This was not outside the Primarch's theoreticals. Servants of Chaos were cowardly by nature. What worried the Primarch were the pattern of mutation and markings the cowards shared. Even while dueling multiple Flesh-golems simultaneously, Marcus assessed the situation and realized what was about to occur. The runaways were Tzeentch Cultists preparing a ritual.

This suspicion was quickly confirmed as the Primarch felt a swelling of dark power. 99 Sorcerers all around the battlefield that was once the Ports antichamber and gate were calling upon their patrons might. Marcus did not know what hex they intended to cast and did not care to find out. His sons had been selected for this duty thanks to their purity and numbers. Even so they had suffered from the Chaotic attack and were fighting at sub-standard levels. Marcus was not going to risk his gene-sons or victory. The Sorcerers must be stopped.

Kalib and his Legion had not arrived yet and the XIII Librarius could not handle what was coming. This left Marcus with a singular option. He was loathe to enact his trump card this early in the battle, but it was the most practical option. Sending a telepathic warning to all allied Psykers he prepared to use The Hand of Dominion.

Executing the golems with efficient thrusts of his Gladius Marcus gained a scant amount of precious breathing room and lifted his free hand up into the air. The power-fist encased hand spread its fingers and he brought it down onto the cracked stone of Luna, like he was swatting an annoying insect. As he did this the Primarchs psychic power rippled out from him. Forming a massive field of warp-energy that extended kilometers in diameter. It was not noticed at first, for its nature was not of the kind many know exist. Instead of twisting the rules of the material or ripping open the veil it strengthened the barrier between material and immaterial.

Marcus's Hand of Dominion nullified or weakened all but the mightiest psychic power within its radius. As a youth the Primarch had found Warp-craft messy and unpredictable. It was not reliable or efficient enough for his taste. After an encounter with a Blank in Malcador's employ an idea struck the young demigod. If psykers use their emotions and willpower to harness warp-energy to bend reality, could it also be used to enforce reality? Consulting with his father provided the information needed and Marcus Augisto set to work enforcing sanity upon the universe. His brother Tengri Khagan once remarked to Marcus "I guess you are obsessive for all rules, even cosmic ones."

Tengri did not know the half of it. Marcus had witnessed the horrors of the warp even from a young age. He had seen what the monsters hiding in the immaterium had done to his brother Konrad. Watching a friend and a brother who similar to him slowly go mad and almost be damned had a major effect on the young Marcus. Law, justice and unity kept mankind from becoming playthings for the false-gods. It was only logical for Marcus to apply his mental skill set to his psychic one. Enforcing righteous order upon a chaotic universe.

Once enveloped in the Hand of Dominion, the Tzeentch Cultists found their ritual rapidly collapsing. Like an inferno starving for oxygen the dark power sputtered and died. Confusion filled the Dark-Sorcerers hearts. They only had moments to savor the emotion before the second wave of the Imperial assault arrived.

From the void the XI Legion arrived. Not in drop pods but through gravity. They had jumped from their vessels and drop-ships into Luna's skies. The Eight Formation assault on Lunar void space was to distract the Cultists from this Assault. Like a gentle snowfall of Ceramite they had arrived all across Port Luna. This process took longer than the bombastic arrival of the XIII Legion but started at the same time.

With the attention of the Port Luna defenders on the massive army marshaling at their front gate. It was rather easy for the XI Legion to burrow into the massive fortress and conquer it piece by piece. By the time the XIII Legion had entered the Port and Marcus used the Hand of Dominion the majority of important systems within Port Luna were under Imperial Control.

Kalib Kraad the XI Primarch had lead this phantom-blitz himself. Using his own psionic abilities to muffle any psychic or material distress calls. The traitors and Daemons were locked in their fortress with a being designed to be their ultimate foe. Kalib lived up to this. He was a storm of blades, psychic fire and vicious instinct. Zaubervox was not the only Daemon Prince within Port Luna. The other one was considerably less lucky than him. Where Zaubervox was cast back into the warp and soundly humiliated, the other was not so lucky.

Kalib had impaled the Tzeentch-Slave on a spire of Iron. Before vivisecting it spiritually. Peeling away layers of corruption and dark magic to find the last bits of mortal within the Daemon Prince. Kalib Kraad allowed himself a vicious grin as the creature's tiny shred of soul was plucked from its Daemonic self and locked away. Adding to his growing collection of damned souls. The husk of warp-energy that had once been a Mortal bound to Tzeentch was then burned away with silver fire. True Death was merciful compared to what was in store for this fallen Daemon Prince. Cut off from his patron god its identity and name were erased. The remnant of this once proud "ascendant" champion of chaos was now locked away within the the XI Primarchs gift from the Emperor.

An obsidian cube, carved with countless glyphs of sealing and protection on even the microscopic level. This "Rubi-Carceron" as Kalib's father called it was an ancient relic that in his hands could imprison souls, Daemons, and worse. The lost Daemon Prince would spend the rest of time within the cube. If Kalib did not find a use for the soul scrap as test subject or ritual fodder.

So when the XIII Legion pushed the Chaos berserkers and fanatics back to the Ports interior they did not find allies and security but another force of Astartes. Then as a final nail in the cultists resistance another mass of XI Legion warriors arrived from the void. Surrounded by Transhuman warriors and neutered of their dark blessings and stolen fortress-port the defenders of Port Luna were exterminated.

With the beachhead claimed, Imperial Auxilia could be ferried to the surface. They would support and hold the territory claimed by the Imperial offense. Regrouping the XI and XIII Legion prepared to set out. The Lunar Crusade would purge any and all remnants of Chaos from Sol. Spreading out the twin Legions formed up into multiple hundred thousand strong armies to march across and within Luna. Nothing would or could stop this. With the number and adaptiveness of the XIII, supported by the XI's viciousness and psionic expertise, the Creed of the Four Phases was doomed. Even so their foul patrons had a few other strings to pull. Fate is a funny thing and some puppets of the Dark Gods are doomed to dance to a familiar tune no matter what. Even if death had already claimed them.

 _Location: Hazardous Specimen Storage Alpha, Mare Ingenii._  
 _Date: 813.M30 (Shortly after the murder of Zamora and unleashing of Chaos)_

The walls of existence became dangerously thin throughout Luna. Warp Energy crackled and roiled through the natural satellite. Rifts were constantly splitting open. Leaking Daemons and lesser warp-vermin into the tunnels that criss crossed Luna. Blasphemous rituals and dark wards protected them from most of the Astronomicon's light. Creating a domain of shadows and corruption. Here, the elite of the Lunar Cult drank deep the power of the Warp. Growing swollen with the Gods favor, and becoming ever madder.

The beings that had once been the Creed of the Four Phases would have been horrified and disgusted by what had become of them and Sacred Luna. Now they revelled in damnation. Protected from sanity and decency by the first boon of Chaos. All who walk the path of glory are slowly stripped of what is Anathema to Chaos: control. They became literal lunatics, seeking greater and greater heights of insanity to earn the Gods favor. An eternal cycle of self-destruction that fed the Gods and let them affect the Materium.

This feeding frenzy of Chaos attracted the attention of countless Daemons. All seeking to enter the warp-soaked materium of Luna through the various gateways created by the cults. The warps power was becoming a part of Luna and if the gods had their way it would join the celestial family of Daemon Worlds. Teetering on the edge of material and immaterial Luna could host some of the elder fiends of the Warp. One of these ancients of cursed Pedigree slithered through Luna on the hunt for an old friend. This Daemon took the form of a crow, or rather the idea of something a crow symbolizes. It had once been bound to a true-son of the Anathema. A wise Sorcerer who bound 72 Daemons to him in ancient times.

Now it scutteled/flew/swam towards a hidden Vault within Luna. A place where the most dangerous artifacts and specimens on Luna were stored. This facility was were the Imperium dissected creatures and horrors it encountered. Most of these specimens had been slowly siphoned to the growing Imperial Palace. Where they met their fate in the Emperor's lab or the Dark Cells. Only a few items remained, those the most difficult to transport. Zamora the Squat had actually been sent on a mission to retrieve them when the Creed of the Four Phases had ambushed him.

The most important of these artifacts was the Daemon's goal. The corpse of an impossible man. A captain in a Legion that did not exist, sent on a mission by a fallen Primarch. Along with his brothers he had been dissected and analysed by the Anathema himself. Improvements to the Astartes and their equipment could be traced to this. Now the Daemon mortals called Raum opened up the stasis coffin holding the body and poured himself into the dessicated flesh.

The dark energy that filled Luna provided the power needed to knit the broken body back together. Armor plates were welded to rapidly mutating skin. Bolt-wounds were repaired and infused with putrid muscle. Neurons were rewired and pieces of a long lost soul were plucked from the warp by Raum. Its once and future symbiotic nature with the lost soul allowing this act. Then with a howl of dark Laughter the thirsting gods breathed life into a fallen servant to-be. The revenant Astartes lurched back into life as its Daemon ally welcomed him back to the land of the living: "Hello Argel Tal."

With a roaring scream of agony, confusion and misery Argel Tal sucked in the stale oxygen of the vault and felt his flesh finish healing. Jerkily he rose from his casket and came to his senses. Everything was pain, his flesh was being remodeled as well as rebuilt. The Daemon Raum had melded into his body and soul. A perfected form of possession where mortal and spirit became more than the sum of their parts.

That was at least what the Chaos Gods told Tal and other followers of the False Word. In truth this form of supposed symbiosis was simply a more evolved parasitism of the Warp. The mortal would be slowly and certainly assimilated by the Daemon. Feeding and strengthening it till the last fragment of their soul was used up.

This transformation and resurrection was extraordinarily painful. As it continued, Argel Tal was blind to the world, existing in a undead state of misery. Guided by primitive instincts and the whispers of Raum he sought out sustenance to fuel the process. In the barren cryo-tomb where his remains were stored the only food to be found was his fellow Pilgrims.

The Battle-Brothers of the Serrated Suns Chapter were ripped from their caskets and messily devoured. Flickers of memories stolen from their long dead minds added to the torment that Argel Tal was experiencing. After hours of feasting and mutation Argel Tal was reborn. Ceramite plates, mutant muscle and Daemonic energy had become one. Matching a Primarch in both bulk and size, the Possessed had become a terrifying champion of darkness. It was only when this metamorphosis ended that some level of consciousness returned to Argel Tal.

Raising himself up to his massive height Argel Tal blinked away the pain and confusion that had ensnared him. Now he sifted through the memories that drifted through him. Some were distinctly Alien, those belonging to his consumed brothers and a few filtered through from Raums own history. Yet most of these memories were familiar.

* Kneeling before a tattooed chaplain, receiving blessings as he was anointed. Becoming a more than a mortal. Becoming God's messengers. A Bearer of the Word.*

*Laughing and talking with a white armored Captain. Cousins and friends. Sons of failed sons, and leaders of men and supermen*.

* Guided by a purple eyed prophet to the womb of the Fourth. Where the once-rulers had violated existence and rebirthed another aspect of Madness. His soul sold to the Warp-Gods, destiny to die in shadow set in stone.*

* Man and Daemon became one. Daubed in bloody crimson. Leading his damned brothers to betray and savage their cousins. Making the fields of Istvaan run red with offerings to the Four true gods.*

* Being torn to pieces by the vengeful claws of the Deliverer. Dying in the shadow of Korvidine Pinions*

* Impaled by Destiny's hand upon the burning fields of a Slave Kingdom. An adamantium Aquilia forged onto a walking cathedral marked his demise. *

* Into the breach! Leading the charge into the Anathema's lair. Butchering the Sons of Dorn. Before the Angel of Vengeance cast him down with a bloody Spear. The light of battle and fury hidden behind angelic feathers.*

* Dragged into the Shadows where a monster made of grief, vengeance and what was once a Primarch sunk its claws into him. Torn to ribbons by a murder of crow-spirits. His head, delivered to the XVII. A taste of things to come*

*Accompanying the Warmaster himself to Mackan. Reaping a grim toll among the cursed sons of the Angel. Until he was brought low by a bloody Warrior-Priest leading an army of fallen heroes. The Reclusiarch's Crozius crushed his skull as the ornamental wings of his killers Jump-pack flickered through Tal's sight *

Familiar, yet jumbled. The memories of every single Argel Tal to fall under the Dark God's spell were crammed into the mutant Astartes mind. Part twisted joke, meant to mock their servant. Part warning and lesson for him to do better. Destiny decreed Argel Tal would fall under the shadow of Great Pinions. Until then the Gods would not let him rest.

Twisted in body and mind the Astartes tore itself out of the Specimen storage. Desperately trying to make sense of the contradictory and foul memories. Argel Tal was all at once, an Idealistic Bearer of the Word, a Daemonhost Pilgrim, Traitor to the Anathema, Veteran of the Long War, and a lost soul, consumed by thirsting Gods. He did not know who or what he truly was until he was greeted outside his tomb.

A troop of tainted Cultists of high pedigree awaited his arrival, their gods had told them of the coming of a Champion from this forbidden vault. Even at their most brazen, the Creed of Four Phases had avoided these chambers. The Anathema's touch lay heavy upon them and rousing his attention would spell their doom. Now that the rebellion had reached its full terrible magnitude. Such concerns were pointless. So a group of the most devout and skilled servants of the Four had been selected to guide the risen Warrior.

Peering down at the kneeling Mortals before him the being that had once been Argel Tal asked: "Who are you, where are we and…. Who am I?"

Religious rapture filled the face of the lead cultist as she stared up at him. He was an icon of her faith. Fusion of spirit and sacred flesh. Standing three meters tall and cloaked in blood-crimson plates of armor-bone. Beautifully inscribe with scripture and occult imagery. His head was a mix of battle-helm, and a snarling Daemon. Where ceramite gauntlets had once been were now mighty talons. The dark majesty of Chaos itself poured off of him in phantom waves. Drinking in the sight of the champion, the leader of the cabal spoke first.

Lady Gienah-154 had been born for this duty. Sculpted from the finest genestock to fulfill this divine order. Guide and serve the fallen chosen who was locked away in the Tyrant-Emperor's vault. Superhumanly beautiful, with skin paler than ancient Luna-stone, and long black hair streaked with silver. A living embodiment of Selenar ideals of feminine perfection. This lovely and seductive shell held a mind and soul that matched Luna's dark side in shadowy intensity. Sinister and utterly devoted to her warp-born masters, a fitting replacement for the half forgotten blind-confessor that Tal had once cared for.

Her silken voice lilted with a Lunar accent answered her new masters questions: "We are the Scions of Sacrifice. A sect of the Creed of Four Phases born to serve you, The Eversacrifice of Chaos."

The Eversacrifice, a title as dark and sinister as any given to the Gods Champions. This new identity suited the man once known as Argel Tal. The mutilated state of his soul, allowed the gods to mold their servant into something new. Just as Raum's influence had twisted his body the words of Gienah-154 finished the process of transforming his mind. The memories and madness that formed his mind latched on to this title and molded themselves to it. Finally, the Astartes known as Argel Tal was gone. In his place was Korban the Eversacrifce.

Looking into Gienah-154's eyes The Everscarfice asked: "What do the Gods require of me?"

A twisted smile marred Gienah-154's perfect face as she responded and set a saga of horror into motion. "What you have always done, illuminate the Galaxy to their wonder. Reveal the Primordial Truth to mankind and save the Anathema's spawn from him."

Nodding in agreement the Korban the Eversacrifce mustered his dark power and prepared to make his way to Luna's now corrupted heart. Destiny called, and he would answer. Yet the Eversacrifce did not know he was not the only warp-infused demigod heading to Luna's core.

 _Location: High Altar of the Four Phases._  
 _Date: 813.M30 (Ten hours since the battle for Luna_ began _)_

The combined attacks of the XI and XIII Legions were making brutal headway across Luna, sweeping away the forces of Chaos like a tide of fire. Port Luna and most of the surrounding habitats and subsurface zone had been reclaimed, letting next phase of the Imperial Assault beguin. Regiments of Solar Auxilia, Martian Knights, and a few of the more tame specimens of the Titan Legions had arrived. Even so, the Cultists put up a vicious. mass-produced Daemon-Hosts and fell psi-weaponry backed by seemingly infinite hordes of maddened cultists proved a vicious combination.

Though the Astartes who fought on the surface of Luna had won a great victory over the corruption fighting to consume their soul, they had not emerged from the conflict unscathed. In purging the taint of Chaos from their bodies and souls, their organs and bone were marred and would take time to recover. Subconscious fears and stresses had been brought to the fore. The effects of the geneblight would have crippled mortals, but the Emperor's genius would not be bested by such foulness easily. The Legionaries fought on, through pain and damage. Luna would be redeemed, and the enemies of Mankind would fall.

Even with the higher than calculated casualty rate and the level of preparation by the Creed of Four phases, the dual assault of the XI and XIII Legion would succeed. The XIII's number, flexibility and adaptiveness was perfectly complemented by the vicious intensity of the XI Legion. Chapters of Marcus' sons formed the frontline while companies of Kailb's children acted as shock-troopers. Combining their natural ferocity and psychic boons to overwhelm the foe. So far both Primarchs leading the surface assault had personally killed three Greater Neverborn (or Second Born) each. Kalib lightheartedly mocked his brother that the one on top of the gate did not count to the tally.

With Port Luna claimed and Luna Voidspace under Imperial control the final stage of the assault could beguin. The XVI Legion would deepstrike into Luna's innards. Striking the traitors off guard. A combination of teleportation beacons and burrowing drop-pods would allow Horus Lupercali to lead a vicious decapitation strike.

Unlike the XI and XIII Legions that started the campaign unified the XVI Legion has been scattered across Luna. Positioned to attack command centers and assist surviving loyalists. Orbital scans allowed for efficient deployment. The more Warp-Taint and energy discharge the more Astartes were deployed. So fittingly the XVI Primarch struck the foulest and most entrenched citadel of the Creed of Four Phases.

This High Altar as its creators called it was a massive complex burrowed into Luna's flesh. Located near the Moon's north pole the citadel of Chaos now occupied what had once been the Emperor's Luna Laboratories. Sealed away at the Eternal Tyrant's orders, the massive complex had gathered dust and shadow until the Creed scavenged it. Once they cracked open the gate hidden at the Laboratories heart. The now barren structure was hidden from the Emperor's eye by Belakor's power. Forming a perfect sanctuary for the Creed to grow.

The symbolic value also enhanced the Cult's standing. By occupying what had once been the Emperor's and declared forbidden without repercussion. The Creed of Four Phases showed their power and influence. In their ignorance and insanity, they assumed the Emperor was blind and impotent. Willful ignorance blinded them to the terrible truth. They had not succeeded in defying the Imperium. Instead, they had been cultivated like prized livestock, fattened up for the slaughter. Now, just as the Emperor planned, the harvest had beguin.

Horus Lupercali and an elite cadre of First Formation Astartes struck the High Altar from Lunar Orbit. Adamantium rain of Drop Pods punched through the Lunar Surface. The experimental Kharybdis Assault Claw could punch through meters of bedrock and steel. Depositing the Astartes directly into the outer halls of the High Altar. Here the XVI Legion's war began.

The High Altar's defenses were congregated at various choke-points throughout the temple. Expecting the Emperor's Angels to smash through the main gate and be easy prey to their weapon emplacements. So when a storm of adamantium and plasma broke through the first three levels of the complex, turning the frontline defenders into a slurry of ash and paste, the Cultists were caught completely guard. Before the soldiers of the Creed could rally, the Drop Pods opened up. Armed with the best wargear the Lunar Elite could acquire and blessed by the Gods themselves. The army that dwelled within the High Altar could have matched any Solar Auxilia regiment. The Astartes ripped through them with practiced ease.

Leading from the front, the Primarch smashed apart enemy formations with each swing of his mighty Power-Mace. With god-like precision, Horus Lupercali blew apart enemy commanders with careful bolter fire. Abaddon stood at his side, fighting through his injuries to assist the Primarch. Although Sigismund of the VII was a better duelist and Blood-Jarl Önundr of the VI was certainly more ferocious, Abaddon combined a level of grit and righteous fury that let him fight on a similar level. That was on full display as he hacked through Cultists and roared oaths of vengeance. Inspiring his battle brothers and setting a glorious example.

After almost an hour of steady offense, the XVI Legion strike force reached their first real challenge. A massive gate that blocked entrance to the inner sanctum of the Altar. The titanic structure was inscribed with thousands of sigils and runes that hurt the eyes to gaze upon. It was one of the four entrances into the Inner Sanctum. Each gate lead to a temple to one of the Four Gods. Which in turn held entrance to the High Altar itself. The theology being one must prove their worthiness to one or all of the Gods before they could enter the holy of holies.

This Gate lead to the Warrior Temple, where the Blood God was worshipped in rituals of combat and gore. As they approached the gate, its defenders charged, hulking berserkers that matched Astartes in both size and might. Armed with savage tools of butchery and blessed with the madness of Khorne, they collided with the Astartes frontline in a wave of carnage. The enemy was mighty, and the Astartes were tired from their experiences. The curse inflicted by the Lunar Cultists and the damage accumulated during the battle was taking a toll. Berserkers and Angels died in droves. Soon the stone floor was slick with shed blood. A befitting offering to Khorne.

Gifted with his superhuman intellect and senses, Horus was the first to notice a peculiarity that affected the battlefield. The pools of blood were slowly but surely flowing towards the Gate. Droplets that formed into streams, then to rivers, and eventually into a subtle tide. This current pressed against the foot of the gate, and through occult witchery, flowed upwards. Blood pooled in runic grooves, forming a dread pattern, acting as fuel for a horrid Chaotic Ritual.

Swearing in his Assa-Matrari's Terran dialect, Horus charged the Gate, smashing aside all who tried to stop him. Holstering his Bolter and drawing upon his psychic might, the Primarch became a charging storm of pyrokinetic flames and energized Adamantium. Berserkers were burnt to ash and swatted aside by crushing blows. Laughing madly and chanting the mad battle cry of "Maim! Kill Burn!", the Berserkers threw themselves into the Primarchs path. Horus smashed aside the charging pack with a single blow. He watched in horror as the blood pouring from a pulped enemy defied gravity and flowed towards the Gate in an aerial stream.

With every drop of blood soaking into the blasphemous inscription, its magnetic draw on spilled ichor increased. The moment the battle started this outcome was inevitable. These berserkers who guarded the Gate of Blood were not simply its wardens, but a sacrifice to bring forth its true defender.

The XVI Legion's fighting pace was too slow, and had arrived too late to stop the completion of the ritual. The blood created a pattern, one that looked like a many armed horror. Soon the inscription congealed into a Daemonic outline. Like a leviathan breeching from the ocean's surface, a massive Warp-Predator pushed through the pool of blood that covered the gate. The Warden of the Bloody Gate had arrived.

The Daemon matched a Warhound titan in bulk and height. Its skin was the reddish black of clotted blood and its very being radiated a controlled psychotic fury. Its head possesed eight faces that circled all the way around its skull, each a ghastly visage born from mortal nightmares. A swarm of sixteen arms, marked with ritual tattoos and bulging with supernatural muscle jutted from its torso. Each limb held a weapon of bloodshed, wicked things of beaten brass and iron.

The moment it's clawed feet touched the chamber floor, the tide of the battle shifted. Its foul blessings empowered the surviving berserkers and filled them with a mad desire to impress the emissary of their patron god, driving any and all semblance of reason from them. The Astartes could barely hold the line and defend against the resurgent cultists. Horus knew the monster had to die, and fast. Which was easier said than done. The rift in reality the Lunar Cultists had unleashed provided a font of power for neverborn to draw upon. So in this blood soaked chamber the summoned fiend could draw upon far more of its power than it should be able to in the Materium. Let alone so close to the Astronomicon.

Marshalling himself, Horus Lupercali prepared to charge the horror. Sensing the killing intent and corona of psychic power that was the Primarch. The Daemon spoke: "I am Kha'aksha. Bloodthirster of the Third Host. You shall die by my blade, Anathema-Spawn"

All eight faces delivered there challenge in dreadful harmony. Its weapons whirled in a storm of metal, preparing to face the Primarch. The Demigod of Order and Archfiend of Chaos stared into each other's eyes. Sizing up their opponents strength and weaknesses. Taking in a deep breath, Horus gripped the pommel of his Power-Mace, and with a simple psychic pulse, he unlocked a hidden compartment. As the artifact inside was exposed, the ritual chamber was bathed in glowing white light. The daemon and its minions recoiled from the searing corona.

Horus held up what appeared to all as a miniature Sun. It was the Emperor's gift to his child. It was the tip of an ancient spear. which had pierced the Emperor's side many millennia ago. Over time, due to the potency of the blood and the adulant worship of millions, it had become infused with the Emperors psychic power. As Horus revealed more and more of the ancient weapon, its shoddy metal core slowly encased in crystalized light. Ages of reverence along with the Emperors growing power turned it into a shining blade of psychic might and a truly formidable weapon if in the right hands. This Speartip of Destiny was one of the most powerful tools against Warp-Corruption in human history. Suitably given to the Primarch whose corruption in another timeline had damned existence.

While far less harmonized with the artifact that his father's soul was, Horus began to pour his psychic power into the Spear-tip, which soon grew a shaft of white psi-crystal. Now the Primarch stood equipped with a weapon worthy of him. Testing his gift he twirled between his hands. Bolts of psychic lighting stabbed out from the spear and burned whatever they touched on both material and psychic planes.

Leveling the blade at his foe Horus Lupercali proclaimed: "In the name of the Emperor, the human soul and the Imperium. I sentence you to death."

Moving faster than his bulky Terminator armor should have allowed Horus charged the Bloodthirster. It counter charged him, roaring a bloody war-cry and swinging its storm of weapons. Kine-Shields flared into being around the Primarch as he weaved between the attacking blades. Horus moved through the Daemons guard and slashed across its chest with the Spear of Destiny. The wound did not bleed from the deep cut Horus had inflicted, but instead burned with white light, forming a searing scar on the creature's flesh.

Horus tried to back out of the Daemon's reach while parrying attacks with both Spear and Kine Shield. He was a fraction too slow and a salvo of six arms smashed into his left flank. The blow would have killed an Astartes and it tossed the Primarch a few meters. Superhuman agility and a bit of telekinesis allowed Horus to land on his feet. Spinning to face the monster Horus snarled and leveled his weapon. This was the first time he had used the Spear in combat and did not fully understand its capabilities. Now was as good of a time as any to test his gift.

Guided by some intuitive insight, Horus channeled his psychic energies into the weapon. A Primarch is a being of both realms of existence. Each brother was a Soul of unfathomable power inhabiting a superhuman body. Capable of channeling huge amounts of Warp-Energy into a body that could handle it. Now, a fraction of that godlike potential was discharged from the Spears tip.

Like the bastard child of lighting and a Lance Battery, its struck. The blinding flash forced battle surrounding them to stop for a moment. The Astartes helmets compensated for the blast, the Berserkers were not so lucky. Most were blinded, a few of the unlucky outliers had their eyes and exposed skin burned away. The Spear's Beam struck the Daemon square in the chest, obliterating most of its torso and continuing through the fiend. It blasted into the meeting point of the Bloody Gate and the chamber walls. Ripping open the entrance to the Khornate Temple and gouging a hole in the outer parts of the temple complex. The psychic might of a Primarch focused through a resonant artifact proved utterly devastating, beyond even Horus' expectations.

Horus staggered back, shocked by the destructive force he just unleashed. Despite being mutilated beyond reason the Daemon staggered forward. Blood and gore leaked from its catastrophic injuries. Leaving a grisly trail as it staggered towards Horus. The Bloodthirster's host body was rapidly falling apart. It growled curses and threats in the dark tongue of its native language as it stumbled forward, desperate to get close enough to spill the Primarchs blood. Horus channeled a few sparks of psychic energy into the spear. Letting the blades psi-crystal edge grow into a great mass of spiked warp-matter. Instead of a spear, he now held a massive mace. Like a headsman of old he lifted his weapon up and brought it down on the Daemons head, and with a resounding boom that reverberated through both the material and immaterial planes, the Bloothirster was banished.

Though Horus lacked the control and knowledge to fully kill the monster, he did manage to maim it. The saga of its defeat became etched into its being. Now it's bloody banishment became as part of its story as the ancient massacre that birthed it. If Kha'aksha the Bloodthirster were to ever gain the strength to enter the material realm again, it would be a broken crippled thing.

With the Daemon destroyed, the Berserkers were quickly finished off. The battle had taken its toll. Apothecaries worked to harvest Geneseed and patch up the wounded in the battles lull. Even the Primarch felt the toll of what he had done. Horus was young, lacking the control and endurance he would gain in the ensuing centuries. His body had barely withstood the energy he unleashed and his mind was taxed. The Primarch actually used his weapon as a makeshift walking stick for a few moments as he recollected himself. Soon his remarkable regenerative abilities started to kick in. It would take days for him to return to prime condition, but for now, he could fight.

The new form his weapon had taken suited Horus better. A mighty cudgel to crush the foes of mankind. Learning to change its form and function would be valuable tool. Hammer, Spear, lance, halberd. Many weapons of war to slay the foes to come. Holding up the Longinus and facing his sons Horus let out a roar of triumph. Then he pointed the hammer head at the Gate and issued the order to continue the assault.

The Gate door damaged by Horus's energy burst required only a few gouts of plasmas to final come off its hinges. With a wail of broken and stressed metal, it collapsed, opening the path to the XVI Legion. Before them was a pitch black tunnel, filled with a darkness that seemed to stare back at the Astartes as they gazed into its abyssal depths. A pack of Terminators quickly assembled. They would be the first into the breach with the rest of the strike force following close behind. The chorus of metal boots echoed through the dark hallway, forming a rolling wave of sonic thunder that prophesied doom for the enemies of mankind. Then a new sound was added. A sickening squelch as the Terminators stepped into something that covered the floor before them. As far as the Astartes could see, the chamber floor was covered in a horrid film of blood, broken flesh and shattered bone.

Thousands of people had died horribly in this chamber, and now their remains carpeted the chamber. Horus ordered a Mind-Magi from the legion Librarius to inspect the remains. Kneeling down to commune with the layer of broken meat. After a moment the Librarian jolted back and swore. Gathering his power and prepping wards the Mind-Magi frantically called "Prepare for Battle, Neverborn incoming!"

The fleshy detritus filling the chamber had been left to chum the Sea of Souls. Along with giving bodies to those from beyond. Shadowy tendrils of energy materialized from the Warp, slithering into the broken bodies and knitting them together, giving form to the incarnation of bloodshed and fury. The Daemons of Khorne entered into the Materium. A host of Bloodthirsters howling for Transhuman blood. The cultists of Luna had found many ways to use the power of the warp effectively. Blasphemously using the wonder of human curiosity and scientific understanding to assist the Predators in the Immaterium. The Creed of Four Phases walked a path where ritual and the occult was refined from superstition to an art and science. If these techniques could be further refined…. The Galaxy would burn.

But first the Creed would have to survive the Emperor's Wrath. Which came in the form of Three Legions and their Primarchs. Horus lead his sons in cutting down the Bloodletters. They were empowered by the Warp and could each match two Astartes in might. Any other day this battle would be a bloody and brutal affair for the Astartes. Today it would be a different story. Horus gripped the mace-head of his weapon and dissolved the Psi-Crystal. Now, the bare metal of the Spear-tip was visible. Without the crystalized energy to mask it, the Speartip glowed like a purifying Sun. The power of every myth and legend regarding it, combined with a drop of the Emperors own life-blood made it a thing of light, fire and destruction of all that is evil.

Lifting up the Spear so the light at its tip formed an Anathema-Star of righteous power, Horus let a wave of psionic light fill the Chamber, scalding the Daemons and driving them back. The Astartes charged the howling Daemons and cut through the weakened neverborn. These great fiends of Khorne were cast back into the abyss easily, their connection to the warp muffled and expunged by the radiating light of the Primarch's weapon. The XVI Legion continued onwards, down the dark chamber. The Emperor's Light guiding their blades and bolts against the Neverborn who dared stand against the Imperium of Mankind.

From the moment they stepped on Luna, the sickening sensation of Warp Taint had been felt in the Astartes souls.. Describing it in mortal words, like all Warp phenomena, was not quite possible. A member of the ancient Sigillite order came close though with this description: "Imagine the smell of rotten flesh and the sharp feeling of breathing in bitterly cold air. Now combine those feelings along with the instinctual revulsion a mortal feels upon seeing an atrocity. Such as cannibalism, mutilation, rape, pointless butchery or worse. Then instead of feeling it like you would a sensory input it suddenly exists unprompted in your mind."

The Hypno-Indoctrination that helped make the Emperor's Angels Superhuman protected them from this to a degree. Where mortal soldiers would have become sick and panicked they were simply annoyed. They were his Space Marines and they knew no fear. That would hold true, but as the oppressive aura of Taint worsened the deeper the XVI Legion went. Slowly but surely, they started to feel the gut-wrenching wrongness that was coming from within Luna.

This was best seen as they reached the end of the long and blood soaked hallway. A great adamantium door capped the end of the hallway. The foul sensation of corruption oozed off of it. So thick and vile it was almost visible to even the most psychically deaf Battle-Brothers. Beyond was the Heart of Darkness. Where the Chaos ritual that unleashed the Warp-Horror on Sol had been performed. The Holy of Holies, the Creed of Four Phases High Altar and Inner Sanctum, which in turn was built directly above the Warp-Rift that the God-Emperor had once sealed away. Truly a place of Chaotic power and evil.

The Astartes felt a vague sense of discomfort and apprehension as they marched closer and closer. The instinctual terror that would reduce any mortal to fouling their undergarments and losing their sanity had little grip on the Transhumans. The Armor of Contempt held strong but an ancient animal-voice in the back of each Astartes mind whispered to them "Whatever is beyond that door can, and will kill you"

Still they had a duty. To fight and die for mankind. So when Horus Lupercali gave the order for them to blast the door down and charge into whatever awaited they obeyed.

Location: The Bucephalus, Approaching Luna  
Date: 813.M30 (Thirteen hours since the battle for Luna began)

The Emperor of Mankind stood at the edge of his command deck onboard the _Bucephalus_ and watched the newly christened Lunar Crusade unfold. The titanic and ancient mind that was Revelation pulled information and senses from countless sources, ranging from his fine-tuned superhuman ones, to more esotetric links with the Cognatu Ferrum and Astronomicon. He absorbed and understood this data at speeds only the mightiest Golden Age A.I.s could have possibly rivaled. The Emperor directed fleet movements and shared strategy with his sons, doing everything he could to minimize damage to the Cradle of Mankind.

While he engaged in this material war the Emperor also fought an immaterial one. The hideous weight of the Primordial Annihilator pressed on realspace. Like storm smashing into a break-wall, the Dark Gods desperately tried to smash through the Emperor's light and swallow Sol. Each swarm of Daemons and tainted ships that poured from the cracks in reality was fraction of the horde that was broken and banished when faced with the Emperor's might.

The Emperor did not know exactly where the ramshackle fleets of Daemon Ships and Damned pirates was coming from. This was not a loosely organized assault of some chaotic empire. Like the Black Crusades of the God-Emperor's time. Instead it was more like the Warp violently ejecting material refuse through the rips in space/time. Millions if not billions of vessels had been lost to the Warp in the millions of years since the War in Heaven. Space Hulks and more bizarre phenomena were often the result of this tragic state of Warp-Travel. The scrap-fleets and Daemon ships appeared to be another collection of tainted material matter that rode the tides of unreality. Jetsam and Flotsam on the Sea of Souls. Broken and possessed vessels crewed by lunatics, Daemons and worse.

So the Imperium dueled the cursed fleet all across the Void. Each Primarch leading a different front of the battle. Octaviar Perturabo the IV Primarch had turned the void-space around one of the larger rifts into a three dimensional kill box. Anything that spat forth from the yawning void located near Venus was reduced to its base elements by a storm of fire power. Phillip Lot rallied the newest members of the Imperium with his sheer charisma. Turning the wavering hearts of the Saturnyne Ordo to iron-strong believers of the Imperial Truth.

With his sons crushing the forces of Chaos the Emperor ordered the Bucephalus to head towards Sol. The Emperor would broadcast his presence across Terra. Letting his subjects know he had not abandoned them. Then as planned he would arrive on Luna seal the prime Warp-Rift. The details had shifted here and their but it so far things were going just as planned. The lunar taint would be purged, the Legions would be reborn, and mankind would be girded against the Warp. The knowledge gifted to him by his fouler counterpart alongside his own insight gave the Emperor an unmatched understanding of fate.

Unmatched did not mean perfect however, and the Chaos gods are clever and cruel beings. So when the Bucephalus left Terran orbit after reassuring the masses and headed for Luna, it encountered something truly terrible. The Emperor of Mankind would not fight beside his sons on Luna or work to shut the rift. Instead, he would fight for his life against an unborn nightmare.

Just as the Imperial fleet clustered around Luna became visible as pinpricks of light, existence shook once again. Unlike the system spanning wave of madness the Creed of Four Phases had unleashed this convulsion of the veil was limited to lunar orbit. A great warp-leviathan was stirring directly in the flight path of the Bucephalus, a titan of the deepest reaches of the immaterium. Something that should not and could not exist had been summoned. The blood and misery of Zamora the Squat's death lured this horror out. The ritual the creed used had cast Zamora's soul deep into the warp. Like a meteor of torment it, struck the sea of souls and caused a tidal wave of insanity that surged through Sol.

Zamora had been chosen for this role not simply because he defied fate and stayed loyal to the Anathema however, he was chosen because his soul and existence called out to one of the ancient and unborn monarchs of madness. Roused from its slumber, this dark god devoured Zamora utterly and traced the Squat's fall up to the materium, where the blinding cursed light of the Anathema shone. Incensed and wrathful, the god saw the Sol system and coveted it. Slaves to be claimed, worlds to be exploited, the fires of industry would burn!

With an otherwordly wail, the materium ruptured and the warp began to overlap with realspace. The warp levithan was pulling itself into reality. Every soul-bearing being in Sol felt insticutal pain as the god attempted to force itself into real world. The psionic and daemonic energy the Creed of Four phases were utilizing through the Rift into the future was consumed at a startling rate. Thousands of cloned brains that existed only to suffer and feed the warp were shredded under the strain. Dozens upon dozens of latent psykers across Sol suddenly felt the calling of the Warp and were driven insane by the leviathan's presence.

Despite all the schemes of the Creed and its sibling gods, this lesser Chaos God could not fully materialize. Such an event would have turned Sol and a decent chunk of Segmentum Solar into a new Eye of Terror. Instead, a horrid aspect of the God climbed into the materium. Its body was composed of dozens of Space-Hulks, all reforged into a blasphemous bull-headed image, and powered by the madness and warfare in Sol. An Avatar of Chaos unborn ripped into the void. It sought to break the Anathema and devour mankind in its eternal greed.

The Emperor watched this unfold from his flagship, unable to stop it. Only ensuring it did not further rip open the material. It would pass into realspace, but he would not let it permanently scar the Solar System. Rising from the command throne the Emperor sent an urgent message to all the Primarchs. They were on their own for now. Continue the battle plan and follow Malcador's instructions until the Daemon King was banished. On both planes of existence the Emperor stared into the furnace-fire eyes of the Monster and spoke one of its accursed names. "Hashut…. God of Greed, Fire, Industry and Tyranny."

The God whose number was Four had yet to achieve dread apotheosis and if the Emperor succeeded it never would. Hashut was the name given to one of the Great Daemon Kings of the Warp. Beings who were not Chaos Gods but could be. The God whose number was Four would be the God of industry, machinery and creation. The Squats feared it as Hashut. The Kai-Smiths Sa'a'ram and the Forge of Souls called it patron. Humanity encountered it during the Iron War as Valchocht. The Dark Mechanicus and similar groups through the paths of fate would birth this Daemon King into a new chaos god.

Until that traumatic recreation it should have been confined to the Deep Warp, sealed there along with the other horrors of the War in Heaven, only able to influence the universe in subtle ways until it's rebirth. Yet, in an act of desperate spite, the Primordial Annihilator had unleashed this lesser aspect of itself, defying the laws of time and space to destroy the Anathema.

Using his psychic Aura to brace the Bucephalus and its escort fleets crew, the Emperor prepared for battle. Pouring energy into the Cogantu Ferrum, he ordered the Psionic Intelligence to use everything available to banish the Daemon King. It might be powerful, but its grasp on realspace was tenuous. With a strong enough push it would be cast into the pit. If it survived long enough to feed and cement its place in the materium, the end of actuality would be vastly accelerated. The End of all things that the Emperor sought to avoid would occur when the barriers between material and immaterial came crashing down. An unborn god incarnating even partially would hasten the rise of madness.

The Bucephalus opened fire on Hashut. Gouts of plasma and more exotic substances smashed into the Hulk-Daemon. Lances of energy focused through the Emperor's Psi-crystals and struck the thing in both planes of existence. Titan-sized shells of silver and adamantium were fired at relativistic speeds. Flights of Custodes and Astartes piloted attack craft were launched. Hashut let loose a piercing roar that defied physics and echoed through the void in response. Its cavernous maw opened up and let loose a blast of superheated and tainted metal. Void-ships worth of Daemon possessed forge-slag flew towards the Bucephalus. The Cognatu Ferrum strained the mighty vessels thrusters and spun the Flagship out of the stream of fire.

The Bucephalus fired broadside after broadside at the Daemon King. It retaliated with a storm of missiles cannibalized from the Space-Hulks component vessels. The jagged black-metal instruments of death smashed into the Bucephalus's shielding. The torpedoes were too slow to trigger the void shield but the Cognatu Ferrum's control of the vessels Ion-Barriers and Kine Shields protected the hull.

Soon the Fighter wings of the Imperial Flagship found themselves facing a new danger. Flocks of Heldrakes poured from cracks in Hashut's form. The possessed attack craft were summoned/built within the Daemon King and now joined the battle. The Bucephalus and Hashut dueled each other above Luna. Like sea monsters of ancient myth they clashed in the Void, the very fate of existence hanging in the balance. Imperial firepower dueled the techno-sorcery that constantly reforged the Space-hulk body. The Cognatu Ferrum desperately tried to do more damage than the Daemon-King could repair. Its artificial soul struggling under mental burden of coordinating the Imperiums Flag Fleet. The Emperor had given it two orders. Hurt Hashut and buy the Master of Mankind time. Even as Hashut's claws racked the ships side and made the Cognatu scream in pain the Psionic Intelligence fought on.

As his servants sought to best the Daemon King on the Material plane the Emperor dueled it in the Warp. Golden Light and dark fire clashed as Anathema and Chaos God-to-be battled. The Emperor faced the near undivided attention and power of Hashut. The patron of the Forge of Souls wielded horrible powers. Soul Grinders from every pantheon flocked to its side. Fighting and dying to fulfill their oath. For Hashut was as much the Forge of Souls as its patron. Just as the Four and their Realms were the same monolithic and horrid entity.

The Emperor did not face this legion of Neverborn alone. The souls of all who fell in the God Emperor's name fought alongside him. Firestorms of Gold and Black dueled each other. Embers that had once been Guardsmen held the line against Daemon Engines and Render Daemons. Angels of Death clad in holy light dueled K'daai Fireborn. All while the Master of Mankind faced Hashut.

With every passing moment, the Daemon King was pushed further on the defensive. The righteous fury of humanity channeled through its Emperor was more than a match for the God of Tyranny. Atham the Revelator had faced down all Four of the Primordial Annihilator's reborn aspects multiple times. On Moloch, during the lighting of the Astronomicon, and at the very moment of his creation when the Shamans had become one and drunk deep from the Well of Eternity. An unborn ghost of a possible god would not best him. It knew this, and the other powers of the warp did as well. Hashut would not succeed in slaying the Anathema, but he could delay him.

Forcing the Emperor to deal with the God whose number was Four. Instead of standing beside Horus when he entered the Inner Sanctum. The XVI Primarch and Legion would face the Darkness alone.

 _Location: The Heart of the Inner Sanctum, Luna_

 _Date: 813.M30 (Thirteen hours since the battle for Luna began)_

Gouts of Plasma fire cut the Adamantium Door leading to the Inner Sanctum. Its hinges turning to slag and its bulk toppled over. The metal wailed a sad song as it crashed into the ground. At that exact moment Hashut ruptured into existence in the void above Luna. That traumatic event echoed in minds across Sol. For the XVI Legion, it was barely registered as a distinct element to the mind-breaking wave of malice that smashed into them. The gate had been warded, sealing the worst of the corruption into this "sacred" chamber. The stomach turning foulness that had seeped through it was nothing compared to this new discharge. Multiple battle-brothers had to fight down the urge to vomit. Nearly all of them flinched at the sensations bombarding them.

The Warp's insanity overlapped with realspace here in an unbearable way. By some horrid means, the Creed of Four Phases had turned the temple into a hellmouth. The heart of Luna was no longer a thing of steel, stone and dust. It had become a miniature Daemon World. A impossibly corrupt thing, more akin to the psychotic Crone worlds within the Eye then anything native to Luna.

Even to the Astartes enhanced senses, the inner sanctum looked like a void of hungry darkness. A yawning abyss that oozed evil and stared into their very souls. They were lucky, being blind to the Immaterium meant that the true horror while lay within escaped them. All but one of the strike forces librarians had the sense too mute their witch-sight and supernatural senses when the door came down. The fool who believed himself mighty enough to resist whatever came next died badly. His neurons overloaded from the impossible stimuli. Like a star flung into a supermassive black hole the Librarian's soul was devoured by the darkness.

Yet the mental burden weighed the heaviest on the Primarch. Horus did not look away from the abyss. He stared into it and let out a silent scream. For the many gifts his body and soul possessed let him see the truth. The inner temple itself was an eight sided chamber large enough to hold thousands of worshippers. Its walls and floor were slick with black blood. Bolts of energy flashed around the chamber, carrying psionic discharge that emitted blood-curdling screams with each eruption. The energy bursts lit the room for microseconds, casting shadows in Daemonic form and illuminating its occupants.

Twenty cultists, all super-charged by dark-energy sat prostrated around the central altar. Horus could see their souls flicker and twitch. Walking the tightrope between Daemonhood and spawndom. These were not the mere cultists they had butchered by the thousands. The twenty were the masters of this rebellion. Each a sorcerer and champion of the gods. Now, they sought the reward for their betrayal: to ascend and join the pantheon of Daemon Princes, empowering their masters to do this by drawing in warp-energy from the centerpiece of the chamber.

This was the source of the madness that tortured Horus and his sons. A crack in reality that stretched from the chamber's roof to the Primarch's gestation chamber a level below it. Nearly a meter wide it was a direct conduit to the Warp's foulest reaches. Yet the aura of insanity, the repulsion, the sheer wrongness it produced was not the source of Horus's pain. What made his soul spasm in revulsion was what happened when he stared into the rift. That occured because when Horus looked into hell, it looked back. The attention of the Dark Gods pressed on the rift. The eyes of the 1/4/8/16/64/108 Gods of Chaos were all focused on him. The Primordial Annihilator peered into the materium, and into Horus.

Horus Lupercali had seen the majesty and terror of his father many times. He had stared into the Astronomicon, even touched the galaxy of divine fire that composed the Emperor. Those blinding, borderline traumatic experiences were nothing in comparison to what he now encountered. Sheer utter madness crashed into Horus. In the Primarch's mind, a trillion terrible images scraped at his sanity. The suffering and torment of more mortals than he could ever count, feelings of betrayal and gut wrenching misery, shock and disbelief that only a victim of fratricide could understand, screaming billions fed to the primordial annihilator by its wretched servant. Gritting his teeth and gripping the Spear like a lifeline. Horus attempted to return the monsters stare.

That was a mistake for in that instant the horrific truth of the visions violated the Primarchs brain. A single horrible thought.

" _You did this."_

"NOOOOOOOO!" Was all Horus could manage as the full terrible consequences of his twisted equivalents actions played out. How Horus, the Warmaster of Chaos set the Galaxy aflame. Cancerous whispers oozed from the rift and flitted around Horus, spreading more of their despair and corruption.

" _You are damned to this. The destiny of the XVI is written into the tides of fate itself. You shall destroy all your father strived for. Become our greatest servant and reveal the primordial truth to all!"_

The Primarch frantically gripped the Spear-tip like it was a rock to cling to as he was buffeted by the waves of pure, cosmic horror, his superhuman grip cracking its crystalline coating as fast as it could regenerate. What could best be called a seizure tore at Horus' mind and body. More information and emotion than even his mind could handle slammed into his consciousness. The suffering of every single innocent butchered from Istavaan to Cadia dueled for his attention. A drumbeat of warp-energy thrummed through him. Its message simple and terrible:

" _Submit to your fate and the agony stops. Surrender to the Truth and be free!"_

Horus Lupercali screamed and screamed until his throat was bloody and raw. Twitching and frothing at the mouth, he fought with his entire soul against the evil. The psychic fire of his gift anchoring him ever so slightly. His sons clustered around him, shock and panic painted across their faces. Horus was aware of them, of every thought and feeling. Responding to his emotions the Chaos Gods whispered another threat.

" _I wonder, how long your sons will last under the weight of your sins? Which one do you think will die first? Do you think he will die proud? Or will he feel nothing but shame and regret for the path you would lead him? Embrace us! Submit and be what you were made to be! The ultimate conqueror! A master of the Stars. The Everchosen champion who starts the next chapter in the Eternal War!"_

Visions of Horus Lupercali clad in dread power. Marching at the head of Black Legions. Casting down the Emperor and ruling as the Dark Emperor of Mankind. Elected by the Primordial Truth to rule in their name for all eternity. Horus resisted the temptation. He fought it better than any being could be expected too. He knew though, at the back of his mind, he knew a terrible truth. Eventually, he could crack. It might take days or even years but eventually he would fall.

Desperately he reached out to his father. Hoping against hope the Master of Mankind would be his salvation. It was only then when the Chaos Gods let the Emperor's message through. A simple warning meant to help sons. He could not aid them due to the Dark Gods interference. It could not have come at a worse time. To the Primarch's tortured and maddened, mind it was the ultimate abandonment. Horus was crushed, his fate sealed.

Using the last ounce of sanity and willpower he possessed Horus made his decision. He would not allow himself to become a tool of evil. His tenure of duty would be short but it would end in the only acceptable way. For only in Death Does Duty End.

With a single shaking hand, Horus unlocked his breastplate and let the massive slab of Adamantium and machinery fall to the chamber floor. Gripping the Speartip by its jagged edge he let out a roar of defiance before ramming the blade through his primary heart. The Longinus had struck down a living god once before. It could do it once again.

Light erupted from the wound as the blade was pushed deeper and deeper into the Primarch's chest. In a detonation of sacred energy it erupted. A wave of Anathema-Flame roiled through the Chamber. Disrupting the ritual and breaking the Darkness' hold power over Abaddon and his Battle Brothers.

The light faded and the Astartes looked upon their Gene-Father. Slumped to his knees and with a rictus of agony distorting his face. Horus Lupercali had fallen, slain by his own hand. The Speartip of Longinus erupted from his chest like a beacon of light. The Lupercal had been damned by an Unholy blade. The Lupercali was instead saved by a Holy one.

Shock and grief filled his sons. They knew what their father had done. He had sacrificed himself to save them all. Raising up his Power-Sword and crying tears of righteous fury, Abaddon charged the twenty cultists. His anger was a pure thing, not the mindless bloodlust of Khorne. His grief was untainted by Nurgles touch. His desire for vengeance was not perverted by Slaanesh. Pure hope for redemption and salvation clean of Tzeentch's machinations. His emotions were purified by control and purpose. Untouched by Chaos, Abaddon the Redeemer struck down the evil.

Bound into the ritual and focused on controlling the immaterial energy that was becoming increasingly wild, the twenty cultists were weak things. Easily hacked apart by the XVI Legion. Like a tumor exposed to searing flames, the cult leaders boiled away to a black sludge. Panting slightly, Abaddon looked around the Chamber. He did not know how to shut this gate but he knew he would guard it until the Emperor could arrive. Horus would not die in vain, he would not allow it.

Wracked with grief and combat-haze, the Astartes started to relax and absorb the shock of what occured. This was a mistake. It provided an opening for the Twenty First Cultist. A lance of warp-energy that sorcerers called a Doombolt lanced out from the Rift. It struck Captain Hastur in the chest. Searing his organs to ash and rapidly mutating his body. Where the noble Astartes once stood was now a foul Chaos-Spawn.

Before the new threat could be addressed by the surviving Astartes, the rift shimmered. Out of it walked the leader of the Creed of Four Phases. Soaked in corruption and empowered by the Gods themselves, Sagitari-17 had arrived to crush the heretics.

Snarling at the Astartes the Lunar Fiend spoke in an unearthly voice. "So the False-Emperor's bastards come. You fools defied the gods and rejected ascendance when we offered it. I wove the secrets of divinity into your flesh and you repay me with bolt and blade. No matter. My ascension is at hand. Luna shall join the constellation of Chaos, just as I shall join the pantheon of Princes!"

Igniting his Power Sword and leveling his Bolter Abaddon growled in response: "You will die painfully and I swear that your False Gods will follow soon enough."

Smiling cruelly, Sagitari-17 raised his hands. Clasped between them was a blood-stained goblet. Lifting the blasphemous artifact to his lips he drank its content. The blood of a Daemon King filled him. The essence of Be'lakor acting a the final component in his ritual. After drinking his fill, Sagitari-17 cast aside the empty vessel and laughed. "The gods granted me twin tools too ensure your demise" he laughed. "Witness the power of Chaos!"

A storm of dark, hateful energy poured from the rift. An inky tidal wave of malice that flooded into Sagitari-17. A legion of demonic voices laughed as Sagitari-17 roared in pain. His flesh twisted and bent as the Dark Master entered him. Great obsidian horns and ragged wings erupted from his head and back, oily scales rippled across his skin. Be'lakor the first Daemon Prince possessed Sagitari-17 and walked the materium once again.

 _Location: The Emperor's Laboratory, Terra._

 _Date: 813.M30 (Ten hours since the battle for Luna_ began _)_

The Emperor's Laboratories were arguably the most fortified and hidden location within the entire Sol System. Designed by the Warmasons and the Emperor himself to keep anything unwanted from getting in and anything uncontrolled from getting out. Theoretically, it was the safest location to be during the nightmarish battle that rampaged across the Void and celestial bodies of Sol.

This in no way calmed or reassured Arik Taranis. When Malcador had pulled him away from the War council and down into the labyrinth of scientific and occult equipment. He felt nothing but stress and worry. This was unusual to the old warrior, very unusual in fact. The fact that it was unusual gave him no solace, for he knew the reasons for his concern were warranted. First, whatever was news important enough for Malcador to journey down here during the worst of the fighting and bring to him had to be bad. Secondly, this, or an earlier rendition of it, had been his birth place. The place where he had been brought into existence screaming and in agony.

Malcador had been tight lipped about the reason for this journey, only that it was an utter necessity ordered by the Emperor himself, and that Arik was needed. So the Lighting Bearer and First Lord of Terra marched past nervous technicians and frantic Adepts, headed to a certain vault hidden within.

It was a massive and ugly thing, more fit to be in the Shadow Cells than the Laboratories. This was intentional of course. From Arik's knowledge, this vault was used by the Emperor to conduct experiments on the Shadow Cells occupants or create things that would soon join them. A squad of Shadowkeeper Custodes opened its Adamantium door and accompanied them into it. Within were many apparatus that defied knowledge and in the center of the chamber a very large sarcophagus.

It was layered with inscriptions and wards that glowed white hot. Its metal surface seemed to shimmer with heat. Something very powerful was locked within it. Malcador approached it and gestured for Arik to follow. The two of them stood before it and the Lighting Bearer could feel the inferno of psychic energy trapped within.

At Malcador's instruction Arik held his hand above the engraved lid. It was a beautiful thing, portraying an Angel made of fire. That was what not caught Arik's attention, however. What did was what was carved where the Angels heart should be. An ancient numeral Zero. Disturbingly similar to his own.

Before he could ask a lash of telekinetic energy cut his palm. A few drops of crimson fell onto the numeral before Arik drew his hand back. The Lightning Bearer whirled on Malcador and asked: "what is the meaning of this Sigillite?"

Malcador quickly retreated from the casket and gestured to it. The thing shook with thunderous energy and one by one, the glowing runes adorning it faded. Arik moved away as well and again demanded an explanation.

As the seals became undone the ancient Sigillite started to speak: "You are a prototype. A first attempt to create a Primarch. Your body was crafted in a near miraculous process unrivaled by any attempted in human history. Due to your experimental nature you have suffered many biological failings. Yet you still live and have survived the impossible. This was not simple luck. Physically, you are extremely similar to the finished product. Aside from a few adjustments and modifications, you are a Primarch."

Pausing as the sarcophagus started to glow white-hot. Malcador erected a powerful Kine-shield around it, to protect the vault and its current inhabitants. "Do you know why you are different from the Twenty?" continued Malcador.

Arik shrugged: "I always figured I was incomplete, a rushed product. A blunt instrument for a brutal era."

Increasing the power of the Kine Shield as the last few seals broke Malcador spoke: "There is some truth to that. Yet that is not the true reasoning. A Primarch is a being of incredible power, a perfect body of transhuman might coupled to a Soul of god-like brilliance. You were the prototype for the that body. Spiritually, you are barely psychic. More akin to a mortal of extreme willpower than a physical god."

Finally, the lid of the sarcophagus blew off. Malcador caught it telekinetically and worked to shield the chamber from the brilliant light that erupted from rest of the container. Arik reached for his blade and prepared for whatever came as Malcador spoke: "You are the prototype for the physical aspect of a Primarch. The weapon sealed within this crypt is your other half. The prototype of a Primarch's soul."

The eruption of flame died down. The sarcophagus settled momentarily before a Star floated out of it. Arik's transhuman sight adjusted and he could see the true form of the light: a human women, clad in fire. She was naked, and would have been beautiful if not for the pattern for vicious burns marring her flesh. She was being burned and healed constantly by the psychic flames, a vessel not fit to contain a Avatar of Mankind.

Slowly, the women landed on the chamber floor. Her eyes opened and Arik was reminded of the Emperor. The womens eyes were balls of golden flame, just like when the Emperor's wrath was piqued. The flames surrounding her solidified. Forming a pair of massive wings and a blazing sword.

It floated towards Malcador and Arik and spoke. "THE ANGEL OF VENGEANCE RISES! WHAT SHALL BURN IN THE EMPEROR'S NAME?"

Malcador responded. "Luna is tainted by the Warp. Cleanse it with fire and save those loyal to HIM."

Arik tensed as it looked over him. This "Angel" was a great and terrible thing. Of all the things the Emperor created, this alone rattled the Lighting Bearer. This was a weapon meant to burn trillions. An insane living weapon of exterminatus, akin to the countless horrors of Old Night. Mankind's wisdom and power turned to extinction. For Arik, it was like looking in a mirror. All his flaws and sins magnified for the galaxy to see.

The Angel grew brighter and brighter as Malcador spoke to Arik. "Once the Emperor finished crafting the Angel within the Warp he attempted to summon it. Originally we hoped to use you as its host, to test that process but were unable too. So instead it was bound to a truly lovely women. A compassionate and loyal mortal who strove to help mankind."

The thought that he had almost been used in this experiment and that this Angel of Vengeance had once been an innocent women sickened Arik.

"Why didn't you just seal it away or put it into a warriors body?" Asked Arik.

"We discovered it was simply too useful. Terra was infested with neverborn horrors beyond your legion to fight and too numerous for just myself and the Emperor to deal with. And for its host… well the Angel is thoroughly mad. It is a vengeful and terrible being. By letting a pure hearted sacrifice contain it we hoped to control its more destructive tendencies. As the unification wars died down the Emperor locked it away. Only his or a Primarch's blood can unlock its wards. Hence why you were needed. Now we can only hope it will bring us salvation."

With that the Angel lifted from the chamber floor. In a gout of fire it disappeared. The Unborn Primarch journeyed through the Warp. to cleanse the Solar System in holy fire.

 _Location: The Iron Gold, Flagship of the VII Legion (Terran Void Space)_

 _Date: 813.M30 (Eleven hours since the battle for Luna began)_

Rogal Mauer, the Primarch of the VII Legion, had been given command of Terran Defense. Protecting mankind's cradle was an important duty, one he embraced. Mauer was a skilled Void-Admiral. Not quite at the level of Alexio or Tengri, but skilled nonetheless. Under his command Terra and its Void-space had been protected from the hordes of cultists and Daemons, forming a final invincible bulwark around Terra. He would Protect Terra and try to distract as much of the enemy away from his Father's duel with the Hulk-Daemon.

His legion acted as the Imperium's shield as the XI, XIII and XVI struck as its sword. This duty was palatable to Mauer. He was a dutiful son, and would stand against the Imperium's enemies. Defending Terra was his purpose after all. The Primarchs were built for War but they were more than simple weapons. Even after the galaxy was safe for mankind they would have a role to play. Rogal Mauer knew his and happily embraced it. The heart and soul of the Imperium were his to fortify. The Solar System and the other Capital Systems of mankind would be sheltered by the Emperor's Praetorian.

Even as the Imperium's shieldbearer, his Legion was not fangless. The VII Legion's Champion, Sigismund, led the VII Sword Brethren who even now rampaged through the enemy ships. A mighty sword to cut down the enemies of mankind. So far the battle had gone well. Enemy battle group after battle group were crushed. Their maddened attempts to attack Terra crumpling on Rogal's bulwark.

An urgent Astropathic relay pulled the Primarch's attention from the battle. It was straight from Malcador the Sigillite. "A new weapon against the darkness has been unleashed. It flies for Luna. Ensure its arrival and continue your duties."

Before Rogal Mauer could inquire more, he suddenly felt the presence of whatever the Sigillite had let loose. A new star of psychic fire appeared above the Palace. A spark of light flitting away from the Astronomicon and up into the Void. It burned bright in the firminant before becoming a comet of golden flame shooting away from Terra.

Every warp-sensitive soul from the Palace to Luna felt it. An unstoppable desire for vengeance and destruction, the Emperor's wrath made manifest. Following Malcador's orders, a shard of the VII Legion Fleet entered parade formation around the Star. They were not the only ones to notice this new being. A massive battleship of dubious origin broke away from the Chaos fleet. The possessed slab of metal and corrupted machinery charged to intercept the new Star. The near-space-hulk roared a fearsome challenge through the void. A daemonic asteroid to counter the divine comet.

At Rogal's command, the Imperial fleet opened fire on the Battleship. Macro-shells and lances smashed into it, desperately trying to shatter it before the hulk collided with the Emperor's new weapon. The Primarch gripped his sentinel blade's hilt tightly as he watched. He was about to give the order for one of the escort crafts to ram the enemy battleship. Anything to slow it down enough to let the new weapon escape.

Before he could, the Angel-Star accelerated, moving to counter charge the possessed battleship. Shock rippled through the _Iron Gold'_ s bridge. They could do nothing more, impact was iniement. When the Angel struck it did not detonate or flatten against the battleships armored prow. Rather, it punched through it like a drop of molten metal hitting parchment. The Angel ripped through the cultist ship, leaving scattered debris and a gaping hole into the void that greedily swallowed the wailing demonic crew of the now doomed battleship. The Imperial Fleet tracked its progress with each bulkhead and deck detonating in a shower of molten metal and psychic fire.

Then, as easily if it had been passing through hard vacuum, the Angel cut through the battleship. Burning it out and leaving a drifting hulk in its wake. The VII Fleet was left to mop up the Chaos Horde as the Angel of Vengeance entered Lunar orbit. It blazed a flaming arc along the moon, heading towards its north pole. Once it reached its destination the Angel descended. A meteor of holy flame ready to strike into the Heart of Luna.


	26. Chapter 21: Gold, Silver and Steel

**Chapter Twenty One: Gold, Silver, and Steel**

 _Location: The Heart of the Inner Sanctum, Luna_

 _Date: 813.M30 (Thirteen hours since the battle for Luna began)_

It was Evil Incarnate. That was the only way Abaddon could describe the nightmarish being before him. Nearly every human civilization had some myth or concept of the Adversary. Satan, Lucifer, Apophis, Set, Erllig, Iblis, Angra Mainyu, Be'lakor, Ba'al, Azura, Nyarlathotep, and many many more. This idea, the idea of the primordial enemy, evil given form and purpose, it had gained sentience and power within the Warp. The thoughts of all of those thinking creatures had coalesced into a single being of malice and horror. It formed into the Dark Master.

Now Be'lakor, the First Damned of Chaos, had entered the material universe. Empowered and given body by the Creed of Four Phases, the Daemon Prince's fanged maw split into a grin as it noticed the fallen Primarch. Moving ponderously, as it grew used to the rapidly fading laws of physics. It moved with an almost apathetic gait. The universe seemed to ripple and contort as it walked towards the Astartes, as if space/time itself fought to move from his infernal presence.

The Daemon Prince spoke in a deep and eloquent tone. "I had hoped to claim the XVI as my host" the creature said with a rueful glance at the fallen hero. "He would have made a perfect body. The Dark Gods would never possess a mightier Agent. Alas, this sorcerer will do."

Shadowy warp-fire coalesced around Be'lakor 's claws. Approaching Horus, it let out a mirthless laugh. "Still, a body such as that has so many uses."

Abaddon was quick to realize the monster's intent. It wished to desecrate his father's body. He would not allow the fiend to do as it pleased. To Abbadon, the honor of the entire XVI Legion was at stake. Standing between Primarch and Prince, Abaddon intended to die stopping the monster. Some part of the young Astartes knew this is exactly where he belonged, standing before Evil Incarnate and guarding mankind's destiny. He had done so aboard the Tiber-Prince, and he would continue to do so until his last breath.

Be'lakor stood twice the height of a Primarch and peered down at the Astartes before him. "Oh? Another Warmaster approaches me. The First failed to embrace the gods. Will you fail yet again Despoiler?"

Roaring with fury Abaddon charged the Daemon Prince. He knew he could not best the horror, but he could delay it. Be'lakor deflected the Astartes' blows with casual ease, laughing at the Space Marine's futile attempts as he did so. Soon, the other Battle-Brothers within the Chamber charged the Daemon as well. It laughed and summoned another blade to meet their desperate charge. Dozens of Astartes threw themselves at the monster, but Be'lakor shredded them to bits, dodging bolt shells and bisecting Astartes with supernatural skill the whole time. Screaming with righteous fury as another one of his brother was killed by the daemon, the Redeemer fought on. Abaddon was too slow on his next parry and was sent flying with a lash of Be'lakor's draconian tail.

Abaddon landed in a crumpled heap near his father's body. As he lay next to Horus' corpse, a faint flicker of Light caught his attention. Jolts and sparks of psionic electricity emanated from the Speartip buried in Horus, faint golden energy glowing from it. Eyes locked on the spear-tip Abaddon stumbled to his feet and felt a presence brush up against his mind. His father's voice blasted through Abaddon's head at a volume akin to a thunderclap. "Take up me up and strike down the evil" it commanded. "Purge this unholy daemon, Abbadon the Redeemer."

Slightly concussed and mad with grief, Abaddon did not even question the reality or sanity of what he was about to do. Scrambling over to the Primarch's body, he gripped the speartip, pulling it free from his father's corpse, its psychic energy crystalizing into a longsword of purifying light. A corona of gold rippled out and through Luna. Every psychic on Terra's moon felt it and instinctively knew the source. This golden beacon called out to three in particular: The Angel, Marcus, and Kalib. It called them to the place of their sibling's death.

The XI and XIII Primarch immediately discharged their duties to subordinates and rushed towards the Lunar North. They could not reach their brother Horus through the psychic bond shared by the Twenty. The beacon carried a simple message to them. Something horrible had happened to the XVI. Fear, desperation and frantic worry that only the kin of the lost can feel coursed through the brothers. To the Angel of Vengeance, it simply acted as more blood in the proverbial water, helping to guide it towards the source of corruption.

Abaddon the Redeemer felt his body and soul shake from the energy coursing through him. His gauntlets started to glow from the heat, and he could feel the burning power of the Speartip in his very bones. Power only a Primarch could possess coursed through him. Abaddon did not know how long he could survive such an experience, and he did not care. He simply hoped he would last long enough to avenge Horus Lupercali.

Raising the blade high, Abaddon charged the Daemon Prince. The power coursing through him caught Be'lakor's attention. With a wave of shadowy force, the Dark Master smashed away the hoard of Astartes trying to gain his attention. Summoning a single jagged blade of tainted metal, the Daemon prepared to match swords with Abaddon.

Faster and stronger than his body and mind had any right to be, Abaddon dueled the horror from beyond the material world, his shining sword clashing with Be'lakor's. Letting loose a shower of sparks with each blow, Abaddon felt his body scream in protest from the exertions he was placing upon it. Muscle ripped and bone cracked, psychic light healing the injuries as quickly as they came. Abaddon was faster and stronger than ever before. But even with his new powers, he was barely fit to trade blows with Be'lakor. The Daemon Prince laughed maniacally as it its blade flashed a mesmorizing pattern of murder. The monster seemed to be enjoying the duel. The Battle-Brothers of the XVI fought at Abaddon's side, hoping to distract the Daemon even a bit.

Even fighting dozens of Astartes and the empowered Abaddon, Be'lakor was holding his own. Seeing no other options the XVI Astartes had all activated the Legions unique Twenty Fourth organ. It was an augment to their revitalizer gland, a gift from their Primarch to his sons. In moments of extreme stress, a flood of neuro-enhancers and pseudo-organic war-chems explode from the gland, allowing the Astartes to think, move and react faster than should be physically possible. Combining this gift with the latent psionic blessing each Astartes possessed resulted in short bursts of incredible power. It was a secret weapon reserved for the most dire of moments. If there was ever a time for such a thing, it was now. Supercharged by the Speartip's psychic effects and his father's biological gift, the elite of Horus' sons fought at a level unmatched by any other Astartes in all twenty legions, desperate to avenge their fallen and send the fiend screaming back to the abyss. To the Astartes time seemed to stand still and incomparable power coursed through them. To the Daemon Prince this was just further entertainment.

Unknown to all but Be'lakor, another threat hid within the chamber. Cloaked in etheric shadows, the monster once known as Argel Tal stalked. Korban the Eversacrified clambered along the Daemonic Cathedrals ceiling, careful to avoid the battle down below. The Possessed Champion dropped down to the Warp Rift, scanning for what he needed to complete his mission. Hidden from the Astartes, Korban claimed his objective: The twin artifacts of Luna, namely the obsidian knife, still caked in Zamora's blood, and the chalice Sagitari-17 had drained to become the Daemons host. Plucking them from the warp-tainted stone, Korban retreated into the Shadows. His minions had escaped through the Warp Rift, and he would in time. For now, the Gods still required him on Luna.

Be'lakor felt the Eversacrificed complete his mission and let out a snort of annoyance. Another rival for the god's attention was never welcome. Even if they were forced to work together, the Dark Master felt contempt and hatred for all others who curried the undivided attention of the unholy patrons.

The duel between the elite of the XVI Legion and Be'lakor continued unabated. The Astartes had yet to land a single blow on the monster, only distracting his blade. Every few minutes, a Battle-Brother would falter. Through bad-luck, exhaustion of the 24th organ, or simply not matching the Daemon Prince, they would fall. The lucky ones were left broken, the unlucky ones died and were spiritually devoured by the monster. Still, the Astartes held. Abaddon knew at this point he could not slay Be'lakor, and he knew his only hope was to delay until someone who could arrived.

* * *

 _Location: The Heart of the Inner Sanctum, Luna_

 _Date: 814.M30 (124 Terran Minutes since the duel started)_

Everything was pain. Abaddon felt like he was being ripped apart. Mind, body, and soul pushed past any sane limit and all were failing him. Even as his Battle-Brothers were cut down, he fought on. For over two hours, Abbadon had fought with valor against the daemon, matching its world breaking blows each time it sought to end his life. By the seventeenth minute, he stood alone. All his fellow Astartes lay dead or dying around him. Even as sanity and rationality left him, carried away by pain, Abaddon knew the responsibility that was now his. He and he alone stood between the daemon and its goals.

A sudden shift rippled through the tainted chamber. Something grabbed the attention of the Daemon Prince. Be'lakor sensed the twin forces making their way towards the chamber. Marcus Augustio and his sons were traveling the root Horus had taken. Kalib, in turn, lead the XI through the opposite entrance, the one consecrated to the Dark Prince. The Daemon Prince could feel the XI Primarch dueling the Keeper of Secrets bound to that gate. They would be here soon, and the true battle would start.

"Amusing as this spar is, your betters have come. I shall finish this distraction before devouring more of the Anathema's spawn." growled Be'lakor.

Moving at speeds the Materium struggled to translate, Be'lakor lashed out at Abaddon. Lunging forward, Be'lakor sought to rip Abaddon's head from his shoulders. Bracing for the traumatic impact, Abaddon used the Sword of Longinus as a pike. Letting the Daemon's momentum impale its taloned hand on the shining blade. Pulling back, Be'lakor looked at its hand. The greatsword of psychic fire was stuck through his palm. Golden flames licked at Be'lakor's hand and seared his flesh. The Daemon Prince examined it with an expression of amused surprise on his face.

"A potent weapon, wielded by weak children. An apt metaphor for the power you and your father possess. Abaddon and Horus, both weak fools. Undeserving of divine anointment."

With a disdainful blow from the daemon. Abaddon crumpled. Separated from the Spear of Destiny, his body was rapidly collapsing. Be'lakor wrapped his tail around the dying Astartes. Lifting Abaddon up to face level, with the blade still burning in his hand, the Daemon Prince presented a single claw while speaking. "The power you used was not yours to wield, it is a borrowed spark of a failed demi-god. Not enough to harm me, but it will scar me. A considerable achievement, mortal. I shall return the favor to both father and son."

Slowly and methodically, Be'lakor sunk his talon into Abaddon's left eye. Puncturing and burning away the Astartes' vision. Abaddon could not even scream, his body so damaged that a rasping gasp was all he could manage. Inky black flames scoured the flesh down to the bone, the Warp-energy taking its time to burn away his nerves. When a blackened socket of bone was all that remained of the eye, Be'lakor let Abaddon crumple to the ground.

The Redeemer could only watch as the Daemon Prince turned its attention to Horus. With an ugly kick, Be'lakor moved the Primarchs fallen body over. Peering down at the rictus of pain that soured the Demigod's handsome features, Be'lakor pulled the blade from his hand, gritting his fangs in pain at the act. True to his word, a silver scar soon formed where the blade had punctured the Daemon. Putting one massive foot on the Primarchs chest, Be'lakor brought the Spear of Destiny down, driving its point into the right eye of Horus with a sickening squelch. The psychic crystal that encased it shattered as he drove it in. Soon, the only piece left was a shard of ancient metal impaled his socket.

Laughing at his own twisted joke, Be'lakor summoned his daemonic blades and prepared to butcher the Emperor's sons. On cue, the XI and XIII burst from opposing sides of the chamber. The sight of the rift and its dark influence were barely noticed by the two. What caught and held their attention was the defiled corpse of Horus Lupercali. The XVI Primarch lay at Be'lakor's feet, the daemon's posture over their brother's corpse was equal parts taunt, challenge and proclamation of malice.

Kalib was faster in recovering. Like the Angel of Death he was, the XI charged the Daemon Prince. With Power-axe and Crossbolter drawn, Primarch who was fast earning the name Keeper of Souls rushed forward, intent on breaking this monster. Whispering incantations of smiting, silver flames erupted along the Primarchs weapons and wards shimmered into being around him. He was meant to guard mankind against horrors like this. It would die screaming if it was the last thing the Primarch did.

Marcus took longer to processes the tragedy before him. He understood it, and had a fairly accurate estimate of events. Even so, he did not want to believe his brother was dead. So when that terrible terrible truth thundered through his mind, something snapped. The calm and collected aristocratic XIII howled in bloody rage. His noble features twisted into a grimace of pain and fury. With gladius aloft, he joined his brother.

The Daemon Prince crossed blades with both Primarchs, easily dueling both champions of humanity. When he dueled Abbadon, he had been sparring, enjoying the thrill of the fight. This would be the true battle, one that would take all of his terrible power to win. In the hell-domain that made up Luna's core Be'lakor was incredibly mighty. With a powerful host and a glut of warp-power to fuel him, these false-godlings stood no chance.

"I am Be'lakor! The Dark Master of the Warp. First and True Prince of Chaos! You shall die by my hand and join the trillions who I have devoured!" Proclaimed the Monster.

The Primarchs did not respond. Killing the Daemon was all they could focus on. The duel took place in both material and immaterial. Blades locked as wills clashed. Telekinetic lighting and dark curses swirled through the chamber. Two sons of the Light against the first Son of Darkness.

The Legionaries of the XI and XIII knew this was not battle for them. Instead, they hurried to assist the XVI Astartes. Most were dead, but some still clung to life. Apothecaries conducted triage as they dragged the fallen away from the battle. Beacons were activated and distress calls were sent. The clash of the Titans was not their battle, but they still had a war to win. Abaddon still clung to some semblance of consciousness, the last embers of borrowed power coursing through his ruined body. Those flickers blessed him with a momentary glimpse past the veil. For a split second, Abaddon Redeemer saw Korban the Eversacrified leaving the chamber under a cloak of shadow. He tried to warn his tending cousins of the XIII of the danger, but his slurried and broken speech came off as maddened rambling. Neuronic misfires brought on by traumatic damage would not let him give the information to his comrades. Panic filled Abaddon's mind as the drugs entering his system forced him into Sus-An coma and soon the only thing that Abbadon would be seeing would be the inky blackness of a deep sleep.

The duel between the demigods raged on. Blessed silver bolts shredded Be'lakors wings and in return, Kalib was racked by dark talons. The Primarchs fought hard and few beings in the entire cosmos could withstand dueling the two. Unfortunately, Be'lakor numbered in that handful. The Primarchs were young and inexperienced beings, not yet tempered by millennia of experience. This, and the madness of grief slowly but surely turned the battle in Be'lakor's favor. The Daemon Prince was thoroughly enjoying himself, and it was only a matter of time until he claimed the XI and XIII.

Almost as a response to the monster's glee, a shockwave of golden energy erupted across the Solar system. Passing through Luna and the rest of the system. It burned the Daemon Prince and knocked it back. It and countless of its kin across the solar warzone felt a dreaded presence and whispered its name. "Anathema."

* * *

 _Location: The Bucephalus._

 _Date: 814.M30 (210 Terran Minutes since the duel began)_

Far above Terra's moon, the Bucephalus let loose a final devastating broadside. Smashing the last bits of false-life from the Hashut-Hulk that the flagship dueled. In turn, The Emperor of Mankind had broken the unborn God, and now cast its withering existence into the pit. The horror of infernal industry known as Hashut howled in impotence as the Master of Mankind proclaimed their doom across the warp. "I wield the light of sanity! I am the Lord of the Real! I name you for what you are: An infernal lie that feeds of misery and pain. Begone from this plane, never to return!"

Unhampered by the God whose number is Four, the power of the Emperor shone across the Solar system. The Emperor of Mankind felt all that had occurred and a storm of fury boiled within him. The Primordial Annihilator had stolen a son from him. It had struck down Horus through sins that were not his to own or answer to. Malcador had unleashed the Angel, and Luna teetered on the brink of damnation. Neither he nor the Throne-Emperor was infallible, but the damage done was massive. It was thankfully not as much as it could have been, but still terrible in its destruction.

Turning his thoughts to Horus, he attached a message to his sons on Luna. It rode the wave of golden power unleashed by his victory over Hashut. In it, an ember of hope flew. A possibility to change history once again and save the Primarchs. The Spear of Destiny had been involved with a miracle once before, it could once again.

* * *

 _Location: The Heart of the Inner Sanctum,_ Luna

 _Date: 814.M30 (214 Terran Minutes since the duel started)_

The Emperor's message rattled through Kalib and Marcus's minds. "Recover your brother, his Legion, the Spear and evacuate immediately. An experimental weapon is to be unleashed"

Momentary doubt flickered through the superhuman minds of the Primarchs. Their Father had seemingly sent Horus to his death! That doubt was quickly washed away by the content of the message, for the Emperor had a plan. The Master of Mankind was always ahead of his enemies, even if they were the Dark Gods. The message had shaken both Be'lakor and the Primarchs. Resetting the flow of battle.

The pause did not last long. A vicious roar escaped Be'lakor as he charged the Primarchs once again. The two young demigods struggled to parry the blows, not because of any failure in their training or in their spirit, they were just simply outclassed by the First Prince of Chaos. Even with the knowledge that they could not win this fight, they continued the struggle, telepathically relaying orders and information to their legions all the while. The still living elite of the XVI were ferried out of the chamber and towards evac points. The dead were harvested and marked with runes of warding. A troop of pallbearers from both XI and XIII Legions attempted to move Horus Lupercali, but crackling psionic residue coating the fallen Primarch and his considerable bulk hampered this effort.

As duel continued, a series of emergency Vox transmission crackled into the Primarchs' armor. The Legion Fleets spotted something moving at incredible speeds headed for the Lunar North Pole. Auspex readings were off the charts, and any psychic probes they sent towards the object had produced bizarre results. Whatever weapon the Emperor had unleashed was coming in fast. To the fleet, it appeared like a flaming meteor, somehow defying the laws of physics by lighting a trail of psychic destruction across the hard vacuum of Luna's surface. Despite lacking any conventional or detectable thrust system, the object which was smaller than a drop-pod was moving at velocities an Imperial Destroyer would be pressed to match.

A crew member onboard an XIII Legion escort craft watched its path as she manned one of the ships Flak turrets. By sheer luck, she was closest to the fireball and had an impressive view of the object. The gunner would swear for the rest of her days that whatever she saw, it had wings.

The comet suddenly changed direction, diving straight towards the lunar surface. Frantic orders from Terra prevented it from being fired upon, with the Imperial Fleet watching apprehensively as it struck moon. Instead of a massive cloud of ash erupting from a tremendous impact, it seemed to pierce right through the Lunar bedrock. An arrow of light and fire set loose from the Emperor's vaults.

The impact could still be felt from within the Inner Sanctum. A high pitched hum seemed to resonate through the entire Moon as it bore through the satellite. The Primarchs attempted to disengage from the duel but were stopped by the fury of their opponent's blades. Any weakness or misstep would lead to catastrophic injury. The noise only increased and the temperature within the Chamber started to climb. Orders were given, the Astartes evacuated, leaving the body of Horus. It would be up to the fallen Primarch's siblings to remove him. Marcus silently hoped that they could survive whatever was coming. A quick glance at his brother told him that they were both beginning to have serious doubts about this conflict. The belief of invincibility and immortality that naturally came with youth and supernatural power was rapidly fading from both of the Primarchs.

Then finally, after what seemed like an seeming eternity, judgment came. Like a boring drill made of solid flame, the Angel burned through the bedrock and smashed through the ceiling, exploding into the chamber in a corona of psychic fire. It had burned a straight hole to the Sanctum. Scorching away stone, steal and the Dark Gods touch. The corrupted stone and steel composing the inner Sanctum recoiled from it, the Angel's fire searing away at the Warp's influence. It was a pure and terrible shard of the Anathema, the thing that Chaos feared above all else.

All three combatants stopped the duel as it crashed through the ceiling. Impotent rage and a twinge of fear radiated from Be'lakor while the Primarchs were more shocked than anything. Before them stood a woman made of fire. It radiated an aura of order, domination, and destruction they had only felt one other place. This illuminating shadow of their father was a lesser and far more terrible thing of the Emperor. It was all the fire and fury of Mankind's protector, stripped of its compassion and humanity. Yet on some hidden buried level, the two Primarchs felt something disturbingly similar. A spark of power and majesty only felt when in the presence of kin. This weapon… It was a Primarch but not a Primarch.

The Angel looked upon the Primarchs and spoke in a voice of legions. "Take the XVI and leave. My flames shall purge the unclean."

Without another word, it turned to Be'lakor. A blade of blue-flames materialized within its hand. The Daemon Prince smiled a wicked grin and prepared to face its first true challenge in eons. Before him was the Anathema's scion, it would die by his claw! Frantically Kalib and Marcus rushed over to Horus and hoisted his body up, his noble arms draped over each of their shoulders. Ignoring the sparking pain of psychic shock and the burning heat of the Angel, the brothers bolted from the Chamber. This was not a battle for them, they were like ancient myth-heroes stuck between clashing titans. Heraecles Half-God and Percyus Argos-Maker were mighty figures, but nothing compared to the wrath of Tarturaiz or Ourano. Such was the difference between young Primarchs and ancient Daemon Kings. One day that would not be the case, but for now they would have to take comfort in the knowledge that survival was their key objective.

As the three Primarchs left the chamber, the Angel and Be'lakor faced each other, black and gold flames crackling around them as the fabric of the room buckled under the weight of the psychic power present in the chamber. Both combatants watched for weakness, slowly circling the sanctum like dueling apex predators. At some unknown signal, the Angel and Daemon charged. Like colliding planetoids, they locked blades, unleashing a shockwave of psychokinetic force that detonated with a thunderous boom which shook the inner sanctum and cracked its stone structure.

In the cathedral-sized sanctum, they clashed. To mortal eyes, it would appear like twin stars colliding. One of inhuman heat and power, the other of oily daemonic chill. Be'lakor was capable of wielding more power in the materium in eons. The First Prince was a mass of sheer evil, a thing of doom and damnation. The Angel was worse. It was a thing of undiluted domination. Raw power barely directed by the Emperor's will. Be'lakor spat curses and profane insults with every strike. Grim silence was the Angel's only answer.

Just as their physical bodies dueled, the monsters fought spiritually. Chaotic and Anathemic energies were unleashed. Distorting and destroying the sanctum in a never-ending cycle. Flying through the rapidly crumbling sanctum, the Angel hacked away at Be'lakor's guard. Each blow a thing of blessed steel, holy flames, and divine fury. The Daemon Prince was puzzled by what he fought. Its existence was an unknown, some terrible tool the Anathema had kept locked away. Be'lakor could feel that this "Angel" had more in common with him than any human. It was a blasphemy to everything the so-called Emperor believed in. Something that should have been hidden away in shame. For it to be unleashed was truly interesting.

With serpentine whispers, the Daemon plied these questions, hungering for forbidden answers and an advantage in the duel. Be'lakor had thought himself invincible, for the amount of worship and warp-stuff pouring through him had made it to where not even a Primarch could stand against him. The Angel seemed intent on proving him wrong. It moved at speeds he barely registered and its swordsmanship was flawless. Its power matched Be'lakor in every way, empowered by some unknown source it grew hotter and hotter to counter act the rising tide of evil known as Be'lakor. With the souls of the Creed glutting him and the power of the rift the Daemon Prince only grew in might.

Like a dynamo of psychic energy, the Angel only grew stronger, its flames expanding, filling the sanctum. Scouring away the warp-taint and melting the steel and stone into metal-veined obsidian. It was like fighting a Star, a force of nature. The Angel was practically divorced from human characteristics. Order, pure and dominating order, given flesh. The Angel's body was not immune to its power. Being burned to ash and rebuilt to perfection simultaneously.

Normally, defeat in the material world meant banishment and castigation, annoyances but only setbacks. For an ancient and impossibly powerful Daemon Prince like Be'lakor, true death was a near impossibility. As the Angel-Fire seared his soul, he started to worry if this Anathema-Shard could render him into unbeing.

Growling in fury, Be'lakor channeled all its might into breaking this foe. His power bloomed like a black-hole, growing to devour a world. The entirety of Luna shook with each blow. Thousands of gigatons of imaginary energy distorted space/time and ripped continent-length fissures through the Moon. Twin gods, one of unbending order, and another of eternal chaos dueled and the universe trembled.

* * *

 _Location: Near Luna's core._

 _Date: 815.M30 (41 Minutes since the Angel's arrival)_

After escaping the chamber, the Primarchs desperately sent orders for a mass evacuation across the vox channels on Luna. The pacification of the Moon was dying down, and only a few heavily entrenched holdout of Cultists remained. These traitors cheered the Dark Gods as they saw the Astartes and Auxilia retreat, not knowing the source of this temporary salvation came from their gods' antithesis. Loyalist forces and civilians were herded into massive landing craft. A thunderous migration of millions surged towards the Lunar surface, hoping to reach the Astartes evacuation points. With void control, the entire landing power of three legions could be put to use.

Marcus and Kalib hauled their brother's body through the winding catacombs within Luna. Both superhumans using telepathic and vox communication to coordinate the diaspora towards the Lunar surface. Every few seconds, another detonation from the core would echo through the satellite, buffeting the Primarchs and sending some of their guards stumbling. The Emperor had unleashed something incredibly powerful, and Kalib silently hoped this thing could be locked away again once everything was over.

Relays from the rest of the System were looking excellent however. The enemy fleets had been largely composed of demonically infested hulk-ships, millions of years of burned out cosmic refuse ejected from the Warp by petulant gods. Compared to the full Imperial might commanded by the Primarchs, it was insignificant. The element of surprise and their numbers had been the only advantages possessed. New heroes were baptized in void combat and the start of a thousand legends across the twenty legions started.

The huddled masses of the Solar System had watched the forces of evil come. They had heard the maddened broadcasts howling for death and damnation. Humanity's cradle had shuddered with fear and revulsion as the horrors of Old Night came calling. Those terrified, huddled masses had expected the terrible scene of chaotic and xeno marauders violating entire worlds to come once again. Instead, legions of light marched forth to meet this great enemy. Millions of champions reborn through human mastery of the cosmos had stood between them and the darkness. The Emperor had dueled a false-god and broke it upon the anvil of War. His sons had rallied the mightiest armed force in Sol since the near-forgotten days of the Iron War. The Light of Salvation had come. Suddenly as if a switch was flipped, a new understanding blossomed in the infant Imperium. The Age of Strife was over, the human soul would not be extinguished. No, it would instead burn bright with the light of the Emperor. He was not just the Master of Mankind, but the Herald of its Salvation. The same fervor that pumped through him and his sons filled them as well. The time to run and hide was over. Now it was time to stand and fight.

To the Primarchs within Luna, such grand sentiments escaped them. Grief filled their hearts, and a desperate drive to survive propelled them. The fate of Horus had been hidden from the greater part of the legions so far. Such a crippling blow to morale could not be allowed at such a crucial time. As they fled the calamitous battle raging within Luna, the psionic fire could still be felt. A faint heat that could be detected by all within range. No matter when they were, the sensation of a distant inferno could be felt coming from the core. Psychic feedback rippling through the Imaterium picked up by countless souls.

Marcus and Kalib could only flee and hope to follow the Emperor's orders. The Primarchs, the body of Horus, and their respective honor guards made a strange sight marching through the tunnels. Unknown to them, a hidden agent of Chaos had joined this odd caravan. Hiding in the meniscus between the Materium and Immaterium was Korban the Eversacrifice. Hidden from the distracted sixth sight of the Primarchs, the Daemonhost had stalked them since they exited the inner sanctum, searching for a moment of weakness to strike.

It came when a truly cataclysmic impact shook the moon. Crevices large enough to swallow a man erupted throughout the tunnel which caused the Primarchs to completely stop in their tracks. The quake combined with an eruption of psychic energy buffeted them. At that moment, with all their senses distracted, the Eversacrifice struck. Like some nocturnal fiend, Korban materialized from the shadows. In one taloned hand was an obsidian blade of sacrifice and in the other a bloody goblet.

Supercharged by the blessings of Chaos and striking at a moment of distracted weakness. Korban ripped the cursed dagger across the chests of both Marcus and Horus. The empowered volcanic glass ripped through the auramite armor and raked the Primarchs' flesh. Exhausted from dueling Be'lkaor, Marcus lacked the focus to erect a kine-shield or some similar defense fast enough. A splatter of demigod ichor leaped through the air. Propelled by the blade's edge, like paint dripping from a brush. A few drops from two possible Arch-Traitors were stolen into the goblet.

With both artifacts anointed in the Primarchs blood Korban attempted to flee. In a single fluid motion, he collected the blood, and slashed the dagger across space/time, ripping open a gaping wound into the Warp. Chanting black-prayers to the Dark Gods, Korban leaped through the rift in reality, hoping to escape with this newly born Athame-Dagger. Despite all his gifts, Korban was only a mutated and damned Astartes, not a being capable of harming a Primarch without paying a bloody price.

An edge of blessed Adamant-Silver cleaved through Korban. Kalib Kraad, the XI Primarch had brought his war-axe down on the Eversacrifice's midriff, ripping through tainted ceramite, muscle and bone. With a blow that held the precision of a surgeon's scalpel and the might of an artillery barrage, Korban was broke in half. Vomiting blood and ichor, the Eversacrifice howled in agony as he fell through the portal. His lower half was separated from him and his internal organs were burning in a caustic reaction from the thrice-blessed silver. Crippled and in intense pain, Korban the Eversacrifice tumbled into the Warp, still clutching the artifacts.

With a shudder, the rift shut behind the fleeing Daemonhost, damning him to tumble through the hell-currents of the Warp in a crippled state until the fickle whims of the Dark Gods found it appropriate to release him back into the matterium.

The wounds he had inflicted were neither deep nor cursed. Just powerful enough to shed a Primarchs blood. Loathe to guess at the reason or nature of this bizarre occurrence, the Primarchs continued their mission onwards. They would get their answers eventually, but the threat was dealt with for the time being. Marcus Augistio waved his shocked guards away and continued onwards. Escaping the calamity at Luna's core took all precedent.

* * *

 _Location: A cavern of molten steel and rock that had once been the Inner Sanctum of the Creed._

 _Date: 815.M30 (191 Minutes since the Angel's arrival)_

Battling a Daemon is never an easy thing. The Neverborn are not things of meat or metal. One cannot simply destroy an integral system and watch its body fail. A Daemon is a mass of sentient (or semi-sentient) Warp energy, puppeteering material matter. To banish it back to its hell-dimension home, it must be forced from the matter it is controlling. Either by utterly destroying the host, or sapping its energy through wards, exorcism and similar rites. The tools used to banish Daemons often use a mix of these factors. The Warhammer itself destroys the tissue and circuits, while the symbolism of the Hammer of Witches drives out the corrupting Warp-Energy. So when a Daemon is damaged, it is not being truly hurt. Only cast back into the pit.

Within the warp where banishment is not possible, battles play out differently. Instead of destroying an enemy-Daemon, a part or even all of it will be consumed. Cannibalism and predation between and within each God's sphere of influence are very common. Daemons wax, wane and change sides with the shifting battle lines of the Warp. Such is the Great Game, where flux is eternal and possibilities are infinite, and certainty such as death is alien. True and permanent death is a rare thing indeed. Killing a Daemon requires wiping to from the warp itself in such a way that its energy does not rejoin the Great Game but simply ceases to be.

The most primitive way to do this is for a far more powerful or uniquely antagonistic Warp-Power to utterly reduce the Daemon from being. Much like how a Star can burn entire worlds into nothing buts its most basic component atoms. A stark contrast to the cannibalistic exchange common between Daemons. The only power in the Immaterium with the will and means to do this is the Anathema. Atham the Revelator is not a participant in the Great Game, he is its end. He is feared and reviled by the Warp-Predators that feed upon the Materium and each other. When it came to matters involving the Anathema, nothing was held back. Both sides fought to exterminate the other.

This near eternal conflict continued in truly cataclysmic terms within Luna. The First Daemon Prince and the First Angel of Death sought to wipe destroy each other. Phenomenal psychic power, swords, and minds clashed in novas of power. The Angel's flesh was marred by many oily scars that oozed corruption, as was Be'lakor with tongues of blue flame that refused to be extinguished. The core of Luna ws being superheated and cooled by clashing energies in a physics-defying battle. The only constant in the ever-shifting battlefield was the Rift. The crack, in reality, provided a peephole for the Gods to watch the battle. Its jagged edges spat incandescent lighting. Illuminating the warzone in impossible colors.

A particularly brutal clash had sent both Angel and Daemon colliding into opposite ends of the chamber. The steel-shredding impact barely phased the two. Scrabbling from the impact-craters they flew across the Chamber. Reaching supersonic speeds, they smashed into each other, their weapons screaming for death of their opponent. With a mid-air feint, Be'lakor spun and grabbed one of the Angel's wings and threw her into the chamber wall. A flurry of doombolts and curses followed the reeling Avatar of Sanity, and before she could recover all two stories of Be'lakor landed on top of her wounded form. A taloned claw gripped the Angel's head and dragged her along the obsidian wall, grinding her burning flesh against the stone as he flew along it.

Suddenly, gouts of flames erupted from the Angel, seering the warp-infused flesh of Be'lakor. The Dark Prince was forced to let go of his foe, providing an opportunity for the Angel to ram her flaming greatsword through the Daemon's gut. The psychic flames burning away twisted flesh. Roaring in fury, Be'lakor punched the Angel. The atmosphere detonated in a cavitation bubble tinged with Daemonic laughter. Floating back to her feet the Angel flew forwards and gripped her blades hilt. With a brutal upward stroke, she pulled it free and through the Daemon's mutant ribcage. Be'lakor growled through the pain, and summon dark powers to combat the golden flames searing his flesh.

The battle continued for hours, neither side capable of gaining an advantage. Their flesh and spirit healed as quick as they were damaged. But Be'lakor could draw the fetid spring of corruption that was the Rift within Luna, and he knew that he would tire slower than his foe. A scrap of the soul once known as Sagitari-17 was entrapped in his stolen flesh. Tormented and mocked by the Daemon he had once served. He had believed himself chosen, elected by the divine. A rightful Sorcerer-Lord to enact the Gods will. Be'lakor had lost count of the times he had claimed such fools as hosts. Across the galaxy and the ages, a thousand worlds had gone mad under the First Prince's whims, each tragedy ending with the warp-touched architects of extinction becoming his hosts and playthings. Sagitari-17 was just the next of this Chaotic epic.

What puzzled Be'lakor was the source of the Angels power. He could sense the Astronomicon helping stabilize it, but it was not its font of energy. While it was similar to an incarnated Daemon, flesh infused with Warp Energy, it was also decidedly different. Something unique and bizzare made it up. Similar to the Primarchs in some ways, but if they had a spark of it inside of them, this thing was a blazing inferno. The Angel and the Primarchs were indeed Warp-touched, in a way that was both experimentally new and impossibly ancient. The Anathema had crafted his tools of domination perfectly.

The duel continued unabated, with Be'lakor holding a slight advantage in power. Not enough to tip the balance decisively, but enough that he would eventually win. With the Warp-Rift feeding him the raw stuff of Chaos and the laws of physics fading in Luna, victory would be his. This tempo changed in a single moment. With a perfectly timed parry, the Angel had slashed its sword across the eight-sided rune on the Daemon's chest. The psychic flames that formed the sword leapt onto his flesh and sought to reduce him to ash. Instead of slowly fading to auric cinders that would be quenched by his ocean of malice, these flames only grew hotter. Burning away at the Daemon's flesh.

The Angel's fire spread, leaping from its form like Solar flares. Everything it touched burned. The Warps touch was burned out of the materium, purged with callous disregard. The Angel's power was growing, and quickly. Soon, a corona of energy surrounded her. The Angel had become a Star. It took Be'lakor no time to realize the source of this new power: The Emperor of Mankind had come to Luna.

Where the Primarchs were power placed in flesh and filtered through a human soul, the Angel was nothing but unstoppable psychic energy barely contained in a saint's body. It existed only to destroy what the Emperor decreed an enemy. Eventually, if left unchained for too long, it would stop limiting itself. It would seek to serve the Emperor the only way it could; by destroying anything and everything it deemed unworthy or corrupt. It was a being made of pure order and domination, and few would escape its zealous judgment.

So where Be'lakor was limited by the Materium's stifling certainty, the Angel could only follow orders and do as the Emperor commanded. The Master of Mankind through Malcador had ordered it to stop Be'lakor, cleanse Luna, and protect the untainted. It had followed these orders, and even now its fire coursed through the Lunar catacombs, burning out the chaotic corruption like a virus culled from a bloodstream.

Now the Emperor's attention and will was focused through the Angel. Instead of a broken godling, Be'lakor faced the Anathema himself. Using the Angel much like a normal psyker would a force weapon, the Emperor channeled his power through her and unleashed his fury. Blow after blow burned and broke Be'lakor. His flesh was seared and his soul ravaged. With each world-ending strike, Be'lakor was further broken.

The mighty black wings that had once darkened the skies of countless worlds were ragged stumps. His limbs were torn off and burned. As the core of Luna burned with golden light, the Emperor-Angel gripped the Daemon by its throat and dragged it to the rift. Speaking through the Angel, the Emperor addressed the Daemon Prince and his gods.

"You are not gods. You are nothing but a disease. A blight on the soul of mankind, a curse inflicted in the First War. I will cleanse the Warp of you, and bring light and sanity to my people. Your armies have been broken. Hashut has been cast back to its pit. The Imperium has been girded against your taint. The laughter of thirsting gods is over. The Age of False-Gods is at an end. The Age of Mankind has begun."

Thrusting Be'lakor through the rift, the Emperor started to pour the psychic energy that made up the Angel into the Warp. The Angel was an unborn Primarch. It was divine essence not given humanity but simply weaponized. Now that Anathema-Power was being poured directly into the Warp. He sacrificed the Angel' s very essence to inject his will into the deepest Realms of Chaos. Screaming in unimaginable pain and humiliation, Be'lakor fled for its false-life, leaving the body of Sagitari-17 and seeking some dark pit to hide in.

Still the Angel bled into the Warp. The gods screamed in horror and frantically sought to stop the poisoning. The warp rift in Luna had been opened from the darkest reaches of the Warp, the domain of Chaos itself. Here, they could twist existence and send the sons of Lorgar back in time. Here, the God-Emperor could not destroy the gate, only shut it. It was a breach in existence leading to the stronghold of Chaos. A place of great darkness, a place of power. Where Chaos was at its purest, unassailable, and invincible. Except for one thing, for the deeper the darkness, the brighter the light shines. The Angel's essence flooded into the heart of Chaos. The Emperor would never have been able to strike such a domain normally. The gods had opened the way, channeling their might to extinguish the Imperium. Instead, the Light of Salvation and Revelation struck the gods.

The light burned away at each realm of chaos, exposing weaknesses in each domain and opening new cracks in the strongholds of disorder. The Chaos Gods felt the old rules of the Game change. The Anathema had cast a light in the deepest darkness and the Gods were afraid. Fear and desperation make fools of all of us and in that moment of panic, great cracks in the alliance known as Chaos Undivided were illuminated. The Emperor still held the attention of the Four but more of it was cast to their siblings. Opportunities became apparent as did flaws. The threat of the Anathema had not lessened, but the danger of a rival Ruinous Power had only increased. The Gods would be at war, stuck dueling each other while keeping an eye upon the Emperor. Self-Destruction is Chaos's very nature and when an opportunity presented itself the Four could not help themselves. Somewhere within the Warp an outcast watched this display and laughed. This misguided malice would aid the Emperor, and itself rise to join the Game.

Reeling in horror, the Four frantically to utterly shut the rift. As space/time convulsed and the Warps power subsided the Angel pulled itself out of the rift. Still holding the burnt and broken husk that had once been Sagitari-17. As a final parting gift of spite, the Four spat an ember of evil into the failed servant. The last bits of the Cult leader's soul took control of his broken body just as it mutated into a rancid Chaos Spawn.

Feeling the Angel dying the Emperor used the unborn Primarch for one final miracle. From its burnt body, a wave of golden flame lashed out. Pure Anathema to Chaos in the form of cleansing fire coursed through Luna, burning away any lingering touches of the Gods. Psychic engines and ritual chambers detonated in flames both real and immaterial. Cultists and daemonic infestations became ash. Unlucky loyalists who had failed to reach the untainted surface layers of Luna were scoured. The ones who survived would suffer the symptoms of soul-binding, unconnected to the choirs but damaged, and left in awe at the terrible might unleashed.

Now within the burning cavern once home to the Inner Sanctum lies two beings radically different yet incredibly similar. An ashen Angel composed of the last few flickers of power and a mewling Warp-Spawn that cried bitter tears at its foolishness.

The Primarchs and most of the lunar loyalists had made it to the surface. Where the corruption had already been scorched away by the XI Legions exorcist specialists. Marcus Augustio and Kalib Kraad, still carrying the body of Horus, arrived into the light of Sol just as a golden Stormbird touched down. When its gantry lowered. it seemed like a second Sun had erupted. The Emperor had arrived on Luna.

* * *

 _Location: The Surface of Luna_

 _Date: 815.M30_

Flanked by his Custodes the Master of Mankind walked upon the Lunar sands. He met his sons and subjects in the Fortress of Kepler Crater. The very fortress claimed by the XIII Legion at start of the Lunar Crusade. To Marcus, that felt like a lifetime ago. So much had changed in the frantic days to retake Luna. A Primarch lay dead, the warps malice had been laid bare. The three sons of the Emperor staggered forward, the living and the dead. An awful silence filled the Lunar void. Slowly the Emperor approached the body of Horus. Cupping the handsome face of his fallen son and touching the spike of ancient iron sticking from his eye.

Visible tension seemed to fall off the Emperor. Unlike a mortal's mere body language this was communicated by a semi-visible wave of esoteric energy rippling from him. Placing his hands on a shoulder of each living son he spoke: "Horus is dead, but not beyond my reach. You two did well in saving him. There were mistakes made today, ones I will spend millennia rectifying. Trusting you Kalib and Marcus was not one of them. The Custodes will take Horus to my sanctum. The battle is over, finish your duties and rest. It is well earned my sons"

Tears poured down the Primarchs faces. The desperate madness of war started to leave them as well. They had won, the Imperium had survived the Chaos Gods opening salvo. The Emperor rekindled the spark of hope within them. After a brief embrace and a few parting words, Marcus and Kalib left to take command of their respective legions. Efforts to sanctify and rebuild Luna would require the XI and XIII.

At the Emperors command, Horus was rushed to the Bucephalus and placed in a stasis chamber. Awaiting the attention of mankind's oldest and greatest mind. That and other matters would occupy the Emperor, but for now, he must finish the Lunar War. With Valdor and a squad of Companions flanking him the Emperor entered Luna. Following the path, his sons had taken to escape the duel of false-gods.

The Moon of Terra had been scarred by the conflict. That was becoming evident as the transcendent sense of Revelation focused on Luna. The cancer of Warp-Taint had been violently removed. Entire cities that the Creed of Four Phases once ruled were reduced to ash and slag. The silicate nature of the Moon had saved the satellite from being shattered. The Titanomachy blows had cracked it and ripped open country-sized fissures across the pockmarked surface. Swallowing entire cities and ancient structures like a ravenous giant. Then Angel-fire had spread across Luna. Psychic flames hot enough to burn the soul had traced the paths of Chaos Corruption like natural flames would a promethium trail. Melting lunar dust into massive sheets of milky gray obsidian. Adding celestial burn marks to accompany the battle scars and craters dotting Luna. It would take a thousand years and a great many resources to restore the moon. The Emperor had no such desire and if he had his way the Moon would remain in its damaged state for the rest of time. Sometimes the most efficient way to ensure a change in human development is to burn it into the species collective consciousness. Even now the Master of Mankind could feel fate shifting. That the word Luna and even Moon would be forever associated with the dangers of Chaos. Humanity would only need to look to its cradle-worlds sky to receive a bitter reminder of the Dark Gods malice.

The procession of Monarch and Guard continued into the deeps. The warm light of the Emperor proving a similar but contrasting source of illumination to the Angels Fire. Taking hidden paths and using esoteric powers to travel distances that had taken the Primarchs hours in mere minutes they were fast approaching the core. Still, even this abridged journey gained witness. The burnt and half-mad untainted survivors. Lacking most of there senses had still locked onto and witnessed the Emperor. Some cried tears of blood from burnt sockets, others simply went utterly mad. Loudly proclaiming for none to hear that God was real, and he is a thing of burning light.

The Emperor spared them no attention. He was the guardian of the human race, capable and willing of sacrificing everything to ensure the survival of his kin. Even so, the millennia had worn hard on him. The God-Emperor had forced him to reconnect with his increasingly distant humanity. This did not make him a saint or a god, just as casting it off did not. It simply made him more akin to the species he fought to save. Flawed and broken, but capable of anything and everything. The Emperor would spend the lives of trillions without a second thought if it meant saving existence from a Chaotic extinction. Then after committing such an atrocity, he would grieve. In the great game of survival, morality is a luxury rarely afforded.

Finally reaching the center of Luna the Emperor telekinetically blasted his way into the volcanic chamber that held his goal. Within what had once been the Inner sanctum lay two beings hovering between existence and oblivion. The body of the Angel was a burnt husk. Still glowing with a few faint sparks of power. It did not resemble the superhumanly compassionate women who had once been its host anymore. Approaching the Angel the Emperor reached out psychically. Touching his creation. The Angel was dying.

To his presence, it reacted with the simple joy of a creation responding to its creator. The Angel was a raw uncontrollable thing that the Emperor feared and had locked away. Yet it loved him in the way only the innocent can. Utterly devoted to its master to the point of madness the Angel would do anything to please the Emperor. Touching a gilded hand to its ashen head the Emperor whispered something. A long forgotten phrase in a language unknown to all except one. It was not a prayer but a simple eulogy to the dead. Practiced by a tribe that once called the Sarkarya Riverbanks home. It had accompanied the death of his Emperor's father and countless others. A small snippet of the boy from anatolia still alive within the Master of Mankind. Finishing he looked into the broken eyes of the Angel and spoke to its host: "I am so sorry my love. It's over now, you can rest."

With a thought, the final sparks of the Angel fused with the Emperor. Its golden energy turning a pale silver and hiding within the galaxy of souls. Not becoming one with him like the final traces of the host did, but kept by the Emperor as a separate thing. The Angel had returned home and the saint who the Emperor had loved joined with her ancestors, children, and friends. From across time, space and possibility.

Now the other occupant of the cavern awaited the Emperor's attention. A black stain of burning flesh oozed across the superheated stone. Inching its way away from the light it feared above all. The soul of Sagitari-17 had been neutered of its psychic potential and dark blessings. Left only with his human emotions and memories. Still anchored to the broken Chaos-Spawn that had once been his body. Fighting with every twisted neuron and muscle to escape the Emperor it wriggled along the burning ground. A telekinetic grip ripped him from the ground. Suspending the Spawn as its doom approached. Sagitari-17's mutant eyes gazed upon the glory of Mankind's rightful ruler true unbridled fear filled him. At that moment Sagitari-17 knew the consequences of every dark deal and shadowy scheme had come.

Even as he bled millions in the quest for Daemonhood Sagitar-17 had never once doubted the righteousness of his cause. Rationalizing the horrors committed as necessary to save his people. Now when the souls of countless innocents butchered by the Creed of Four Phases stared at him through the Anathema's eyes. Doubt and guilt crept into him. With the Custodes still flanking him, the Emperor spoke: "A reward fit for a Traitor and fool. I have use for you Sagitari-17. A thank you is in order as well. You will help teach humanity many valuable lessons."

With those ominous words, the Emperor ripped open space/time and teleported all of the chamber's occupants, including the ashes of the Angels host to the Bucephalus.

* * *

 _Location: The Bucephalus Laboratory._

 _Date: 819.M30 (Three days since the end of the Lunar Crusade)_

With the intellect of the Primarchs, the industry of Mars and the Emperor's wisdom the Imperium rapidly recovered from the battle. Burned out husks of chaos vessels were dragged to forge-ships and melted down in great Zero-G furnaces and infused with Rune inscribed silver wafers. Adding raw adamantium and other more exotic materials to the Imperiums stockpiles. Millions of Auxilia and Legionnaires had faced the forces of Chaos and crushed them underfoot. The Imperium had proven itself capable of protecting humanity and earned the true loyalty of the entire Sol system. Outside of Luna, the damage was paltry. Casualties were more than replaced by Lunar refugees who added their technical knowledge in the sciences of genetics and voidcraft to the rest of Sol.

The rebuilding of Luna was starting slow but going steady. Scavenger-Clans burrowed through the wounded satellite collecting everything of value. Acting Lunar-Lord Petronilla Dorovna had rallied countless refugee groups to resettle the few mostly intact cities. Her charisma, psychic powers and a diamond-hard core of subordinates who were now fervent convert to the Imperial Truth did wonders for morale and efficiency among the shellshocked Lunarians. Fears of festering corruption were small. The Angel and later the XI Legion had been thorough. Now it was up to the stunned survivors to handle the shock of most of their world descending into madness and rebuild. The horrors witnessed and the salvation by both Angels of Iron and Fire had armed them against the whispers of chaos. Oaths were sworn by entire lineages to never again fall to the Warps touch.

After numerous diplomatic, military and infrastructure meetings to help guide the Imperiums recovery the Emperor managed to escape to his secondary laboratory aboard the Bucephalus. All the pressing matters had been dealt with and Malcador along with his Sons could deal with anything else. So now before any further steps were to be taken the Emperor would attend to his fallen son.

Stripped of his armor and laid out on a metal slab was the body of Horus Lupercali. The transhuman flesh was marred by numerous ugly wounds. Burns, lacerations and contusions beyond count. The speartip of destiny still jutted from his skull as an ugly reminder of Be'lakor. Horus's body was the current focus of the Emperor and the Cognatu Ferrum who operated numerous surgical servitors. Clad in plain white surgical scrubs the Master of Mankind continued his most ancient art. The remaking and remodeling of humanity.

Dark Age relics, biomancy, and ancient surgical practices were all employed in an exquisite manner. With a dozen tools gripped by his hands and mind the Emperor worked. Shrapnel was plucked from muscle and skin. Dried blood was washed away and fresher samples were taken to be cloned in great volumes. Warp-tumors born of unprotected flesh exposed to the Immaterium were excised with a mixture of blade and pyrokinesis. Meticulously, perfect organs and muscle became whole once again. Cloned tissue was weaved into wounds and the psychic imprint of Be'lakor and the gods was stripped away.

The body of a Primarch does not decay like a normal being. Once it is no longer capable of sustaining life it shuts down and works to preserve itself the best it can. The chemicals and tissues that had been bastardized to create the Sus-an Membrane worked hard to keep the body immaculate. This like every other molecule of the geneforged demigods had a reason. Being born of both Material and Immaterial a Primarch is never truly dead as long as something remains.

With a destroyed body a Primarchs psychic essence becomes an unanchored thing. Half-bonded to their father, half left to wander the Immaterium becoming something far greater and alien. Leading armies of the Damned, spreading bloody rage and redemption among its sons, reverting to its most primal unchained self. Becoming more like the Angel than anything else. A repaired or cloned body would be a transhuman powerhouse trying to fulfill a purpose it never could. Stunted and Golem-like they would try to be a Primarch and only succeed in being a parody of such a being.

If these two halves could be brought back together under certain conditions the Primarch may live again. It was, of course, a risky process. The soul might be too far gone, more god than man. Giving it flesh would invite disaster. This fact had led the Emperor to gift Horus with the Speartip of Destiny. The strands of fate indicated an attempt on the XVI's life or sanity was virtually inevitable.

To prevent the Dark gods from this victory a contingency was put in place. The Speartip of Destiny was a tool allowing for the absorption, direction, and storage of psychic power. Millenia of reverence and myth had gifted it with these virtually unique psionic properties. The extent and power of this had never been fully tested, but the Emperor had gambled. The spear-tip could if used correctly store a Primarchs spirit. Preserving it from the Warps madness just as a stasis box protected a corpse from rot. So with a subconscious suggestion to encourage self-sacrifice, in face of calamity instilled in the XVI from a young age. The Emperor hoped his gambit would work. The Chaos Gods would indeed kill Horus, but he would not stay dead.

Now with steady hands, the Emperor pulled the speartip from Horus. The ancient metal glowing softly in his touch. Placing it in a Gellar Box as an extra measure of protection. The Emperor continued working on the damaged nerves and bone. Neurons were woven through flesh and replaced with gene-printed copies where needed.

Using the access point provided by the fractured orbital socket the Primarchs brain was the next item on the agenda. The Emperor briefly considered erasing or suppressing the memories Chaos had injected into Horus. That notion was quashed by the reality of the situation. Even if he could do it with no other side-effects parts of those memories were most likely burned into the soul residing in the Speartip. Spiritual memories lacking a physical equivalent never led anywhere good. Blocking them away would only delay the problem. You can build the strongest barriers but a willful child will eventually find a way to crack them. So the memories would stay, the danger to his son was too great.

That did not mean alterations could be made. The Chaos Gods had forced every horrid memory of the Heresy. Plucked from the traitor's victims, and the Warmaster himself into Horus. After the tragedy of Davin the XVI Primarch became a true Slave of Darkness. Believing the primordial annihilator had freed him when the opposite was true. The Gods had puppeteered him and watched the galaxy through him until the Seige itself. Every memory and sensation the Four had devoured while looking through the Warmasters eyes had been what broke Horus. The suffering of trillions is not something a Primarch can bare lightly. but they can. Watching themselves commit such acts and know truly they were responsible for damning existence is another thing. So to save Horus the Emperor would provide a single shift in the memories. He disassociated the Primarch from his alternate copy. Instead of feeling every action and thought of Horus Lupercal, Horus Lupercali would witness them. Hopefully, this would be enough.

With those alterations finished the Emperor had one last task before attempting a resurrection. To fix the destroyed eye. Psychic feedback had burned it away, leaving a perfectly bare socket. A Primarch could naturally regrow something like an eye and the process of sculpting such a complicated thing was beyond the time and resources the Emperor currently possessed. A cybernetic replacement designed to detach from regenerating tissue would make do for now. Linking wires to neurons with ease a mortal man would tie his shoes the Emperor inserted the eye.

Suddenly a blast of psychic sparks erupted, frying the cybernetics circuits. Electric smoke poured out of the rapidly breaking eye as the Emperor removed it. Puzzled he checked the socket, no damage, the nerves seemed fine as well. Curious now the Emperor tried another replacement and was met with identical results. After a third attempt, the Emperor checked the genetic hard drive within the Primarchs spinal column and was greeted with a surprise. The psycho-genome markers that were in charge of the Primarchs right eye were gone. Deleted by the psychic backlash of the Primarchs death. It took a moment for the Emperor to realize the symbolism. By some cosmic chance or more likely interference, the Eye of Horus had been destroyed in a duel with a Dark Prince. Was it the Four playing a cruel prank? Or a marker of something far more profound? Time would tell.

Leaving the socket bare the Emperor prepared the Speartip. Ordering the Cognatu Ferrum to engage multiple safety measures and psionic barriers the Emperor prepared to resurrect his son. Channeling his own psychic power into the spear the Emperor caught the sleeping soul within. Like a Man-of-War carried along by a tidal surge the soul was swept from the spear. Protected by the Emperor's light it flowed through immaterial currents into the flesh and brain of Horus Lupercali.

With a great implosion of psychic power, the Spear was emptied and the first flickers of life returned to Horus. Like some Revenant of myth, the Primarch bolted up. A blood-curdling scream erupted from the demigod's reborn lungs. With volume to burst human ear-drums, the roar continued. Playing both roles of parent and medic the Emperor worked to calm his son. The memories may have been dampened but they were horrific.

As some semblance of sanity came back Horus looked at his father. The Emperor hoped relief or confusion would paint the Primarchs features. Instead, mad-fury contorted them. With movements that outmatched any human but were clunky and slow for a Primarch. Horus lept from the table and grabbed the Emperor by the throat. In a hoarse whisper, he spoke one of the dark truths revealed to him by the gods. And as he did white fire erupted in his empty eye-socket. Psychic energy playing the role of eye and leaking warp-energy from the Primarchs very essence. Signifying the catastrophic damage inflicted on both the mind and body of Horus.

"You knew, you knew this would happen! From the first moments, the warp-tainted bastards thought of treachery on Luna you knew! Father, you watched the gods corrupt and drive most of Luna to damnation. At any point, it could have been stopped! So why? Why did my sons, countless innocents, Zamora, and…. and I die?" Howled the Primarch

With a grip that was both tender and adamantium strong the Emperor removed his son's hands from his throat and with a thought pushed Horus back. The simple chirurgeon garb the Emperor wore shifted with its occupant. White fabric hardened to golden plates. Kilos of transhuman muscle sprang into being as the Emperor took the form of Battle-King. Clad in beautiful terminator armor and armed with a shining talon he stood over his son.

With force of will that could make legions kneel he cowed his half-mad son. Forcing Horus to a knee and stifling any further attacks that would hurt the Primarch more than the Emperor. With one eye of fire and the other of flesh, Horus glared up at his father. Wrath and fear were evident in his eyes.

"You know why Horus, you saw just one possible fate the Four attempted to inflict upon the universe. I did everything and anything that was necessary to prevent that grimdark future." Responded the Emperor with cold fury in his eyes.

Memories flickered through both father and sons eyes. The horrors of that possible future collected from both the God-Emperor and the Dark Gods.

*The XII screaming and crying as crude drills lobotomized him. Replacing mortified nerves with a tool of ancient hate.*

*Choking choirs of the Golden Throne as a thousand psykers were plugged into it*

*Betrayed sons reclaiming the Luna Wolf on the dying world of massacre *

*Billions torn to pieces and used as brick and mortar, building a cathedral of evil to entrap an Angel.*

*Drops of blood and ripped skin falling to the ground as VII sought penance for failing his father.*

* The Galaxy burning in a feast for the Gods as the Despoilers legions marched. *

*An age of war, where there is no peace or morality in the stars. A time of monsters, tyrants and lunatics dueling over the ashes of existence*

Horus snarled at the memories and spat back: "I understand that the Primordial Annihilator must be stopped at any cost but why did you do such foolish actions? Letting a cult fester within Luna, sending Zamora to his death, these were not the acts of one worthy of being named Master of Mankind."

The Emperor did not react, Horus expected another thunderstorm of rage or worse. What he got was in some ways far more painful. With a monotone and almost unsure voice, the Emperor said: "It seems I overestimated you Horus. You and your brothers are mighty and intelligent. In raising you I hoped to impart some of my wisdom and experience. Some have, but other lessons and concepts are still beyond you. It seems eons of existence and understanding cannot be learned. Even by a Primarch. This is partially my mistake. I expected too much and assumed you and the others understood. Get dressed, this must be rectified."

Even in his anger and confusion the sense of disappointment and sadness that Horus felt from his father was incredibly painful. Despite the recent events he did love his father and valued his opinion and respect over virtually anything. Feeling ashamed at his initial reactions and still in whatever passed for Shock within a Primarchs mind. Horus donned the plain uniform his father had provided and followed the Emperor. Hoping for answers. On some level, Horus wondered if his shift in attitude was less him coming to his sense or more his father realigning them.

* * *

 _Location: The Bucephalus, War-council chamber_

 _Date: 819.M30 (Three days since the end of the Lunar Crusade)_

In the days after the salvation of Luna, the Primarchs had gone about their business. Cleaning up any straggling Chaos vessels and other duties. For each of the nineteen, they had managed to get back to a semblance of normalcy. The shock of the Chaos assault and the fall of Horus had worn on them.

Marcus and Kalib were both evasive in answers. They told their siblings a brief summation of the events within Luna. Neither Primarch seemed to have a clear answer but the message was understandable. Something terrible had happened and Horus was dead. Shock had rippled through the brothers and rumors started to circulate within the Imperium. A Primarch dead? Such a thing seemed impossible. Each of the Primarchs reacted according to their nature. Some bared fangs and called for vengeance. Others analyzed the possibilities and planned. Denial and disbelief were also common. Some such as Phillip Lot, Primarch of the XVII Legion believed that Horus was not truly dead. The Emperor had given them all life once before, what is to say he could not do it again.

When the Emperor called for his sons they rushed to the Bucephalus. Nineteen Primarchs (The youngest split into two bodies) arrived in the Gilded Capital ship eager for news. The Emperor had not been seen or heard from for days. Under Malcadors orders they had done their duties and waited. The XVI Legion had reorganized under its Lord-Commanders. Morale was low and questions were many among them. The Primarch and the near entirety of the Legion martial elite were dead or severely injured. Still hope burned in the Sons of Horus. Like the XI and XIII Legion, they had received many merretts in the Lunar Crusade. For now, they held out hope for good news and held their heads high. After all, it was the XVI who liberated numerous besieged loyalist outposts and lead the initial evacuation attempts.

Gathered in the War-Council Chamber the Primarchs were oddly silent. Nineteen brothers sitting or standing around the massive strategy center. In this room, an entire interstellar campaign could be planned, organized and conducted. Usually bustling with Custodes, Admirals, Generals, Astartes, and every other branch of the Imperial military. Now it's only occupants were the quiet Demigods.

Twenty minutes after all of them had arrived its doors swung open once again. Like a golden dawn, the Emperor's light poured into the room. The Primarchs bowed as their father entered. Only noticing something else behind him once the door shut behind the Emperor. Horus Lupercali stood there. Alive but clearly not well.

The Primarchs emitted various exclamations of surprise and joy. Moving to embrace him and see to their thought lost sibling. To their shock instead of greeting them, Horus recoiled. Unknown to his brothers' visions of another reality flickered through the XVI mind. He saw the worst of each sibling. How the charming elegance of Iskandar could become serpentine depravity. Or how Konrad's psychic gifts and moral compass might lead him into nihilistic madness. Of all the two he feared most was Dante and Phillip… He could not bare to even look at either of them. For entirely different reasons. The sight of another Horus breaking the weeping Angel as the IX begged for an answer. Was far too much to dwell on. Antithetically Horus had been always close to Philip. So the thought of his immediate younger brother orchestrating his and the universes damnation was stomach turning.

Raising a gauntleted hand the Emperor motioned for them to give Horus distance. Eddard being firstborn spoke first: "Father, we believed Horus to be dead. I see that is not true, what in Terra's name happened within Luna. We thought the Moon would be destroyed?"

Shakely the palid Lupercali answered: "I did die. I drove a spear of psychic power into my very hearts and soul. All in an attempt to deny the Four victory."

Silence again filled the chamber. Such an idea seemed ridiculous but the evidence was plain to their superhuman senses. The slight lurch to Horus's movements, his copper skin a sickly pale, and the lines of surgical scars along with the missing eye. In their brother, they could see a kind of animal aggression and stress. Like an apex predator captured and experimented on. They could smell and even see the immense regenerative properties at work to heal the numerous wounds. Horus had indeed died, and badly it seemed. Only for the Emperor to bring him back to life. A single shared thought independently entered the Primarchs mind. How, and at what cost had this been done?

At the Emperor's command, they all took seats around the central table. Twenty-two mammoth chairs awaited the Imperial royal family. Sitting down the Emperor summoned a holo-projection of two objects. The moon and the Speartip of Longinus.

Gesturing to them the Emperor began speaking: "Horus led the main assault into the cult's headquarters. Originally he was to secure it and cut off the enemy command. Then await my arrival so the warp-rift could be closed. My delay by the Primordial Annihilator aspect known as Hashut prevented me from assisting. The Primordial Annihilator used this opportunity to directly attack Horus through the rift."

Another hologram appeared showing helm-camera footage of Horus staring into the rift and screaming: "At that moment with my consciousness occupied. Chaos unleashed an extremely devastating psychic assault. With the intent of corrupting your brother. To give some context the power used would have been enough to drive multiple planets to insanity. With rescue not possible and the Warp-Cancer seeping into his mind Horus sacrificed himself to stop the corruption."

"Why did he not reach out for our aid? We are linked psychically and together we could have stood against this." Asked Magnus.

Bitter laughter from Horus answered: "You don't think I tried? If I managed to make contact with any of you the insanity would have simply spread. I would not damn my brothers for my weakness in facing the dark gods unprepared. Even death was not enough to cleanse that… horror."

The Emperor continued: "Horus drove his gift, the spear of Longinus into himself. Killing his body and absorbing his soul. It was kept locked within the spear tip and not cast into the warp. Making resurrection possible. Without similar circumstances, such a feat is impossible This only occurred through my countermeasures and a certain amount of cosmic happenstance. Anything can die, even you my sons. Do not forget that."

That sobering thought rippled through the chamber. "With Horus fallen the Primordial Annihilator were forced to another plan. Using the leader of the cult as a host for Be'lakor: A particularly old and powerful neverborn. With only the XVI Legion elite facing it, I decided to enact another failsafe was necessary. At my order Malcador unleashed an experimental weapon to destroy Be'lakor and seal the rift." said the Emperor

Images of the Angel now appeared. Its light was blinding even diluted through pic-feeds. "That is the Angel, similar to Arik Taranis it is a prototype for you my sons. Raw power given purpose. Unstable, dangerous and incredibly destructive. It succeeded in banishing Be'lakor back to warp. Injuring it so thoroughly I doubt it will be able to partially manifest for thousands of years. With Hashut cast into the deep, I could turn my attention to Luna, and used the Angel to shut the rift"

Not a word was said for a solid minute. Breaking the silence Horus spat an accusation: "So now they know the events. Are you going to tell them the rest of it? Or keep it hidden like so many other things."

With an iron-hard gaze, the Emperor looked at his sons and spoke: "I allowed the corruption and infiltration of Luna. This insurrection occurred according to my will. It was necessary for the survival of the human species."

"Why?" Asked Rogal Maur. "Why put the Imperium, us, and the dream of unity at risk like that?"

The holograms blinked away, replaced with a series of thaumaturgical readings. Data about the rift within Luna. To the Primarchs, who were all versed to some degree in such psiences a startling fact became apparent. The mammoth warp-rift that had powered the Lunar rebellion was much older than they thought. It was not born during the uprising as they assumed, but decades previously. That fact filtered into their minds and was shortly followed by other realizations provided. The rift had been created shortly before there birth, and its creation had released a surge of energy. Both chaotic and anathemic throughout the Solar System.

"Fate is a fickle and ever-shifting thing.": Said the Emperor quietly as his sons watched the readings that had been recorded so many years ago. When the Word Bearers and Legion of the Damned dueled in the artificial womb of his sons.

"Despite my best efforts, the Primordial Annihilator discovered you, my sons. Seeing the power you could become it sought to claim the Primarch Project for itself. By twisting the fabric of reality and sending its minion into my laboratory. It sought to cast you into the Warp. Where it could twist you each to their purposes. Originally they succeeded." Continued the Emperor.

Dante and Konrad responded almost in unison. Answering the question raised by the Emperor's phrasing. "That was where the rift came from. The gods attempt to change the timeline." To the twin seers of the Primarchs, the idea of shifting fate was most familiar.

"Yes, and they should have succeeded. Sending you all hurtling into the Warp. Where I would duel them to arrange your fates. Each of you would land on a world fit to forge you or break you. Despite all my power, I could not save you, only give you each a chance to survive." responded their father.

"Why do you speak of such possibilities as if they were fact?" was the near frantic response of Kota. The idea of being cast into the Warp, separated from his family. Subject to the malice of Chaos brought a shiver to the XIX Primarch.

"Because they once were fact. In the destiny of the universe, set in place by the Four, they succeeded. Hundreds of years from now. Two of you would die and nine would be corrupted. Starting a rebellion that would ruin the Imperium and cast humanity into ten thousand years of misery. This was the fate set in stone by the self-proclaimed gods." spoke the Emperor in a somber whisper.

"This future was so inviolate that the minions who broke my wards and let the Four steal you all were corrupted Astartes. The original damned sons of the First Heretic. As ordained by the Annihilator they would prove their loyalty by unleashing evil. Across the fabric of existence. A million variations of this event and its consequences occurred. All equally possible futures that all end with the laughter of thirsting gods. Where humanity sacrifices all that is good and righteous in the name of ugly survival."

Silence filled the chamber yet again. The idea of such a wretched fate seemed to pollute the very room. Ironically the often silent Tengri spoke up first: "This chaotic rebellion kills you and sets the universe down the path of extinction. Horrid, but makes sense. So then what stopped the Four from succeeding?"

"The God Emperor of Mankind" was the Emperor's response.

Visions of a broken husk upon a throne of sacrifice flickered through the Primarchs. The sight of a twisted, broken version of their father. Locked in eternal agony in a desperate battle to hold back the darkness. At that moment they understood. Information was conveyed through bursts of psionic energy. They saw the desperate hope of the Carrion-Lord as it sent its Legion of Fire and Souls back along the currents of time. How the Primarchs were saved and how a gift of knowledge and power redeemed the Emperor before he could fail.

As the tidal wave of information crashed through the Primarchs minds the Emperor continued. "I brought you all here for a few reasons. Horus's return is most obvious. Yet in his wrath post-resurrection he brought my attention to a serious problem. A lesson and gift I had thought you all possessed. This knowledge will help explain my choices and actions. To the naive and small minded I often seem inhumane and foolish. I am neither. In truth, it is the exact opposite. Possessing the wisdom of the ages. I must sometimes act in ways that seem incorrect. That is because I see what is, what can be and what should be. The Lunar Rebellion occurred according to my will because the other possibilities were worse. This grim truth and many more shall now be known to you."

With those words, yet another bombardment of psychic imagery struck the Primarchs. Instead of memories and information, this was futures and possibilities. They saw how fate would unfold if different choices were made. How no matter how many wards and guards the Emperor placed around the rift, it would eventually unleash hell at the worst possible time. Providing the tipping point needed for chaotic victory. So the Emperor let the Gods use it as they pleased. Pouring resources, time and so very much energy into the Lunar Cultists. Preparing to strike the Imperium hard and early.

In fact so early it shocked the Emperor. Simply because instead of taking the tactical or most efficient path of fate, they took the most grandiose and epic one. The "Gods" like all such things are lies given sentience. False power parasitizing everything it can. So they acted not as Generals or masterminds but as a storyteller. Telling the tragedy of humanities fall. How the Great Crusade failed before it could begin. If they waited a year they could have struck a nearly undefended Sol System, doing far more damage and only being pushed back by another secret of the Emperor.

Instead, they fed the loose collection of lunatics the Four could call upon as there material "army" into the jaws of Twenty Legions. They expended colossal amounts of energy to summon Hashut and Be'lakor. Not to mention the attempt to turn Horus. It all failed, spectacularly. The loss of Zamora and the Corrupted Astartes were the only victory for the Gods. Zamora would be avenged and even now the Emperor could detect the ripples in fate the Eversacrifice was setting forth. He would be a threat, but just one of many to be crushed.

The unworthy Astartes had been culled. Preventing the taint of their weakness from worming into the Legions. By letting the Moon burn and displaying the horrors of the Warp humanity had been hardened. Taught with blood and fire to hate the Dark Gods. To stand against those who sought to enslave or devour humanity. The Imperium would be founded on a bedrock of triumph. Triumph over mankind's worst foes. The Mutant, the Xeno, the Traitor and Worse.

The Death of Horus was a tragedy that could only be prevented by something worse occurring. Should the Emperor have abandoned his duel with an unborn God to save his child? In doing so risk the death of countless trillions and humanity itself. He wanted nothing more to rescue his child from the Warps evil. Instead, he had a duty, to protect mankind until the last spark of life left him. So the Emperor made the same bleak calculation he had since before the Gyptian Pyramids were erected. Sacrifice the few to save the many.

Yet all that could not compare to the impact the Angel had. Instead of simply threatening the Gods into shutting the gate totally. The Angel had let the Emperor strike a blow against the Four. In all his worse visions of possible futures, he had only seen the gate close out of fear. Fear of a weapon being used on it and touching the gods. The reality that unfolded had been far better. Instead of chasing away the Predators in the dark like so many times before. The Emperor had struck a blow at the circling horrors. Driving the Angel into the heart of Chaos. Scarring the gods, and setting the Four against each other once more. Buying the Imperium time until the Parasites could recover.

The Primarchs understood now. The true fickle nature of fate, and how the Emperor dueled the Gods for mankind's future. Literally and figuratively. They saw the great burden resting on those ancient shoulders. How he refused to share it with anyone. Fearing the failure or destruction of any other who tried to assist. As each piece fell into place, the Twenty Sons of the Emperor experienced a great Revelation.

The Emperor had crafted them for many reasons. For now, they would sire and lead his armies. One day they might help their father in something greater. Become worthy to help shoulder that burden. Twenty more lights to help push back the Darkness. Twenty more paragons to help guide humanity to salvation. The weight of eternity and infinity was not theirs to bear, yet.

Horus understood as well, but still felt a deep pain in his heart. The Emperor loved them as any father would. He just could not love them above all else. The Emperor must be the father, guardian, and protector of all mankind. It would break the Immortal's heart to watch his children die. This would not stop him from letting all of them die. If it meant mankind survived. Something close to comfort, but far uglier soothed the XVI in these thoughts. At least the visions of the God-Emperor told him that if need be, his Father would spend his own life as well. Courage, sacrifice, duty, honor. This is what the Emperor, no, what humanity requires. Horus promised to himself that he would never be found wanting. He had seen what failure meant. The killing fields of Istvaan, the Siege, the horror of Chaos.

With heavy hearts and adamantium will the Primarchs made vows. To serve, and protect humanity from the hungry Darkness. They would be the light. They would be Salvation. At that moment the Emperor's sons changed. No longer were they the untempered youths of the Imperial Palace. Now they were Primarchs. Demi-Gods born and fit to stride the galaxy. Bringing salvation to mankind, and doom to its enemies.

* * *

 _Location: ?_

 _Date: 834.M30_

Sagitari-17 did not know how long he sat in the darkness. After the Anathema plucked him from Luna he had been locked in a box of cold metal. Silver inscriptions inlaid in his container constantly burned any tainted flesh touching them. Forcing the Chaos Spawn to huddle in a single corner. In the shadows, he waited. Fear and misery oozing through his being. The failure of the Lunar Rebellion and his subsequent punishment broke Sagitari-17. No longer the confident demagogue who turned Luna away from the Emperor. Now he was little more than a twitching puddle of meat.

The ability to sleep had been robbed by his mutation. So he simply waited, staring into the dark with a dozen eyes. Each belonging to a different species and each protruding from his form at random locations. He could not even shut his eyes, his nerves were a jumbled burnt mess. Forcing him to stare into the shadows and confront himself. Cut off from the Warps power and locked in a box blessed by the Anathema. Something strange started to occur. The madness of chaos started to leak away. Not enough to return sanity or even remorse to the broken being. Just enough for Sagitari-17 to fully understand how much he had fallen. What he had become and that he had none to blame for himself.

Eventually, after what felt like weeks of waiting in the black, the box moved. Or at least Sagitari-17 thought it did. He lacked inner-ears now. Sensing movement was rather difficult. After another period of stagency, his container moved. This time he was certain of it. These fits and starts of movement convinced Sagitari-17 he was being moved somewhere. Another stimulus soon touched his consciousness. It was light. A pure bright light that scalded him. His very flesh started to hiss and pop at the illumination. This was because the Light was not simple photons. It was the psychic feedback of the presence of the one Sagitari-17 feared above all. The Emperor of Mankind stood outside his container and had turned his focus to the Chaos Spawn.

A shimmering face of golden sparks appeared in Sagitari-17's mind. It was horrific in its perfection. A golden Adonais, incarnate of order and power. It spoke into his mind and Sagitari-17 shivered at its words:

"I am everything you think of me as. A tyrant, monster, abomination, anti-messiah, fiend and worse. By my actions, trillions have died and more will. The Great Crusade will be the single largest military campaign in human history. It will also be the single greatest atrocity our species has committed. The weight of sins greater than any except the first races shall be on me. Sagitari-17 I tell you all this so you listen and understand what comes next. Despite all that, all my horrors and evils. I am humanity's only hope, and I am a saint in comparison to the beings you serve. Sagitari, you betrayed our species. Hoping to damn us all in your desire for petty boons and freedoms. You are like so many throughout history. Chafing at any restriction or law because it exists. Caring not for the consequences or understanding of why it is necessary"

The face started flicker and it finished its last words as the box moved one last time. "And look where that has gotten you. A mutant hulk of broken flesh. Don't worry too much though. You still have purpose Sagitari-17. Humanity will learn from your sins. Your name will be recorded and hallowed like so many other myths. Icaros, Addin-shah, Harrold, Hutler, Druumpft, Kion and now Sagitari-17 are known as mankind's great fools. I must thank you for this gift of knowledge and warning."

With that, the face disappeared and Sagitari-17 was left in the Dark, but not for long.

* * *

 _Location: The Great Chamber of the Senatorum Imperialis (Under Construction)_

 _Date: 835.M30_

At the Emperor's command, the elite of the Sol System had been gathered. Generals, Governors, Dignitaries, and more had come to the heart of the Imperium. The Great Chamber of the Senatorum Imperialis. An unfinished edifice to Imperial rule. That one day would hold the Emperors Court. For now, it had been cleared of equipment and served as an amphitheater for its master.

In the center of the great structure stood the Emperor, a dazzling light on a podium of gold and adamantium. Floating above and a bit behind him, on a set of grav-platforms was a massive container of black metal. Iterators and Remembrancer scurried through the audience, hoping to catch every moment for documentation and inspiration. All twenty Primarchs and the Emperor's Inner circle were seated around the podium. Facing out and looking into the audience. A wall of superhumans separating the Emperor from his subjects.

At the appointed time the hall quieted, hundreds of thousands silencing themselves out of respect for the Emperor. He had summoned them all here to teach humanity. To explain the threat of Chaos and why humanity must fight. The Emperor began his speech, which would echo across the ages and be known to humanity for eons to come. To each member of the audience, the words were different. The message filtered through perceptions of authority and power. Even so, the message was heard and understood.

A terrible truth of the Cosmos was unveiled, the Neverborn. Sentient Warp-Predators feeding off insanity and worship. Four false-gods who sought to devour everything in their insatiable hunger for life. How the storms that cut apart the ancient human Empire was the result of the youngest gods birth. That the reason psykers went insane and unleashed evil was these monsters.

The Emperor explained how the Four sought to enslave humanity, turn us into cattle or worse like so many other Xenos. Using countless examples from the Unification War he demonstrated the corruptive nature of Chaos. That religion gave them an opening. In a quote that would echo across eternity, the Emperor said: "Any being that demands worship is undeserving of it."

Continuing the Emperor spoke on the mythotype of demon and devil. How these were based on the Neverborn, just as the Fairfolk could be traced to the Aeldari Slavers. The enemy knows this and uses it. They want us to believe there invincibility and omnipotence. Like everything the Neverborn say, it is a lie or half-truth. The Four hoped to kill the Imperium in its cradle, dragging mankind eternally into the dark. They failed, the Legions had broken them. Twenty Legions of Superhumans were crafted to protect mankind from the horrors of the universe. No matter if they were alien, mutant or neverborn.

The Lunar Gene-cults had fallen for the promises and power of Chaos. Like every other fool who choose Chaos, they had betrayed the Imperium and mankind. That is what the chosen of Chaos are. Traitors who sell themselves and their species to parasites and predators. The Lunar Cult hoped to feed every man, women, and child of Sol to a sentient evil. This enemy would show no quarter and they must give none. In facing Chaos mankind fought not just for its right to exist but its very soul. In ancient times the Emperor had been chosen to help protect and guide humanity. He was no god nor demon. Just a very old and powerful human. One who had walked the golden path of salvation and hoped to guide his kin along it.

For humanity, everyone from the highest noble to the lowest serf was kin. One species, one soul. One that must unite together against the hungry dark. Unite in the Light or Die in the Dark. To further prove his point the Emperor summoned up a holo-portrait. Showing a handsome young Gene-wright of Luna. Gesturing to it he continued speaking. "This was Sagitari-17, a brilliant Selenar Cultist who hoped to do great things. He and his followers listened to the whispers of faith and followed the self-proclaimed Gods. Unleashing the Horrors of Chaos on the Solar System. For this, he was rewarded by his masters. I want you all to see the blessings of Chaos.

At that, the metal crate fell open. A scream powered by over half a million lungs was forced from the audience as they saw its occupant. The Chaos-Spawn Sagitari-17 hung in the air. Held in place by a force-field and inscriptions. The handsome portrait of what he once was orbited the creature. Providing a terrible contrast to the mass of limbs, organs, and other parts. Grasping out with stunted arms and peering with shrunken eyes the creature moaned in horror. With the screams and shock dying down the Emperor gestured to it and spoke: "You can all feel that can you not? The disgust rising in your very soul. The knowledge that something cannot be. What you are feeling is the aura of Chaos. The Warps corruption seeping from its fallen servant. No simple gene-horror or mutant can produce such a thing. You all feel it, the evil that seeks to devour your soul."

With a gesture, the Emperor summoned dozens of men and women from alcoves near the Podium. They ranged from mighty Astartes, and cold Skitarii to simple PDF Troopers. In total, the group held representatives of every military branch in the Imperium. As one they leveled their weapons at the Chaos Spawn. "That evil is real, but it is not invincible. Far from it in fact. The Legions cast the armies of hell back into the pit. They along with the rest of the Imperium's might must be leveled against this foe. I ask you, every citizen of the Imperium, from now till the end of this Long War, to fight. Not for gods, wealth or anything so simple. Fight for survival! Fight so that one day your descendants may know a galaxy free from horrors! Place your faith, not in false-gods and false-kings. But in humanity. Stand strong and together the darkness will be pushed back! The Horrors of Old Night shall be no more. The Age of Strife is over. This is now the Age of the Imperium!"

As his words echoed around the great hall the representatives of the Imperiums might opened fire. Bolt, Las, Plasma, and Kinetic rounds punched into Sagitari-17. Reducing the traitor to ash. Letting his tortured soul fly screaming into the maw of chaos.

With the Emperors great Proclamation and the destruction of the Chaos Spawn a great cheer erupted in the chamber. Any being without protected or enhanced hearing suffered damage to their ears. Thousands rose from there seats and gave thunderous applause. The Enemy of Man was known and nothing would stop the species from avenging a trillion trillion crimes.

The Emperor let a smile cross his ancient lips and looked into the Warp. Watching as this moment provided mortar to build mankind's future. The easiest way to unite tribes is giving them a common enemy. He had originally hoped to wait until mankind was safe within the Webway before telling them the truth regarding the enemy. Too many risks with naive and dangerous children. The God-Emperor's experience had brought him to a different conclusion. Better to destroy whatever innocence was left in humanity then let its nativity ruin them all.

The Applause eventually died down as the Soldiers took empty seats and the Chaos-Spawns remains were cleared away. Summoning a new holographic image the Emperor continued. This image was a stylized =][=. Cast in silver, capped with a Human skull on each end. "This enemy is not a simple thing. They fight not just on the fields of battle but in wars of shadow and manipulation. Worming its way into our lives like the parasite it is. While the Legions and Auxilia may stand against the Forces of Chaos. We need guardians to battle the spread of this taint. As such I am announcing the formation of a new body of the Imperium. The Adeptus Umbrex will fight and die in the Shadows. So one day we can all live in the light. The symbol floating here will be the marker of the first child-organization of the Umbrex. The Silver Order. Humans selected for their skill, strength of will and inquisitive mind. Who shall battle the corruption of Chaos wherever it may be found."

Imperceptible to all the Emperor paused for an infinitesimal moment on the words "Inquisitive Mind" He knew what he was creating. An inquisition to hunt his enemies. All he could hope was with his, Malcador and the Twins guiding hands this order might not fall to the levels of that infamous organization. It was still necessary, the Officio Assassinorum and a few other groups would be rolled into this Adeptus Umbrex. He could already see the power and threat such an organization would present. It could not be allowed to be corrupted. Drastic Measures would be taken. Similar to the ones already being implemented with the Astartes.

With a few more parting words the Speech ended and the Imperium was forever changed. Warned against the darkness and hopefully armed against it.

* * *

 _Location: The Imperial Laboratories_

 _Date: 814.M30_

Apothecarium Primus Fabius was hard at work inside the Imperial Palace's secret Gene-vaults. For years he had toiled. Separated from his beloved Legion by one of the Emperor's projects. He had to admit that on some level, he was envious of his brothers. Earning merits and accolades out in conquest of Sol. Still, he knew his work was far more important than anything they could hope to achieve. The III Legion sought to master and perfect whatever they put themselves too. For his brothers that was war. For Fabius, genecraft would be perfection.

The Project, as he and the other apothecaries entrusted with it called it. was another contingency the Emperor had devised. In the Master of Mankind's infinite wisdom, he had prepared a tool in case of widespread corruption to the Astartes Legions. The Project was the cultivation and preparation of immense stores of purified gene-seed. Each cultivated organ had been infused with a few molecules of the Emperor's blood. A carefully selected amount that would provide protection, power, and new life to the gene seed, but not enough to be stolen by nefarious forces.

The Twenty Legions had suffered casualties in the Lunar Crusade. First, the unworthy culled by the lure of Chaos. Then, those who fell in battle. Lastly, the wounded and the broken. The mutation unleashed by the Creed of Four Phases had inflicted brutal organ damage on the Astartes. Nearly every Legionnaire suffered severe physical damage. The Dohrnii Drive could repair most but not all of it. Some damage to the gene-seed organs was so profound even the Drive could not fix it. So now Fabius and his comrades had the duty of replacing the damaged organs

Using the purified organs to fix the Twenty Legions, in a massive surgical operation. Each legion suffered defects in particular organs. Fabius suspected this was due to the contamination method used by the Creed. Allowing the nearly two legions worth of Gene-Seed to repair all twenty Astartes bloodlines. For weeks the Apothecaries of the legions and countless other gene-smiths healed the Astartes. One by one, the stricken Space Marines arose from the operating table reborn. Faster, stronger, resistant to the warp and infused with a bit more of the spiritual essence that elevated Astartes beyond mere Gene-Warriors. Astartes, like there gene-sires are beings of both planes. Human children reforged both physically and spiritually into Angels of Death.

One of the lesser known but incredibly powerful gifts of the Astartes is the "Saga." Each Astartes is psychically attuned in a unique way by there geneseed. Allowing them to subconsciously harvest the psychic-energy they produce through great deeds. With every legend and act of heroism committed by an Astartes, they grow in strength. Fabius did not know this ability was the reason in the Grimdarkness of the Far Future that "mere" Chapter Masters and captains of the Chapters could defeat Daemon Princes and other powerful horrors. If each Primarch was a myth given flesh, the Astartes were soldiers infused with the power of their heroism.

This infusion of mythological blood would increase the potential of this ability along with a few minor boons. Unfortunately, Fabius doubted this power would pass along through Geneseed. Future Astartes born from the Primarchs or fallen brothers would be standard Space Marines. These veterans of the Solar Conquest though, they would be something truly unique.

With this great work in mind, Fabius set to his next patient. Typically, the Apothecaries of a legion treated their brothers and left the injured of other legions to their respective brothers. This patient was an exception. The skills of the XVI's medicae were not up the level needed. Sourly, the XVI called in Fabius to save their champion. Abaddon the Redeemer lay on the surgical table, flitting between life and death. The marred warrior had suffered greatly in his duel with Be'lakor, Only the activation of sus-an sleep kept him alive long enough for his Apothecary brothers to patch him up. Even with the XVI geneseed's gift, it was nothing short of miraculous that Abaddon lived. Nearly every organ in his body, natural or not, was brutalized. His skin was a patchwork of scars, electrical burns and graphed tissue.

Sheer statistics said that something should have given out by now. So much was damaged, a thousand systems that were needed for life. Each pushed and broken to the very edge. Yet Abaddon held on, drifting in and out of pained consciousness between surgeries. Each time he awoke, his shredded tongue worked with burnt lungs to cry out a single desperate word. "Horus!"

The half-dead son called for his fallen father. Some part of Abaddon the Redeemer knew Horus lived, in some shape or form. Deep inside his soul, something told him that the XVI and its Primarch survived the impossible. Neither Fabius nor his attendants bothered to inform Abaddon of his father's return. They had other patients to attend to, and worked as efficiently as they could. Such distractions were not necessary as they worked. Eventually, after a near day of intense surgery Fabius team approached the final hurdle. The replacement of Abaddon's Magnificat.

The strain of using a demigods weapon had blasted apart the Astartes' god-maker. Now, a fresh and enhanced version would take its place. With black carapace linked mechadendrites and a precision forged at the Emperors side, Fabius linked individual neurons and blood vessels together, fusing new life into the husk of Abaddon. Pulling away from his work, the Apothecary Primus of the III legion let out a deep breath. This had been by far his most stressful operation. Now all he had to do was shut off the neural dampener and let the magnificant activate. Pressing a button on his surgical station, the genius Astartes prepared to move his next patient.

Without warning, a blast of light detonated in the operating theater and sent Fabius flying against a nearby wall. The impact was strong enough to force bile from Fabius' mouth. As his enhanced vision adapted to the light burst, he glanced over at the table. Fabius was cold-hearted, even for an Astartes, but concern for his patient flickered through him. Interestingly, the blast had not affected Abaddon. In fact he seemed to be the source.

A second pulse of light echoed out, this time the Apothecary was prepared for it and braced himself for the impact. The energy faded and a medical miracle captured Fabius' attention. Abbadon's exposed tissue started to pull itself out of surgical clamps. Muscle tissue bulged with some supernatural power. Scars faded like washed away stains. Wounds closed fully and Abaddon swelled with power. It was like watching the entire developmental process of a human child being played out in mere minutes. Flesh, bone, and organs grew and shifted. His limbs lengthened and thickened. Injecting sites spat out their needles. Abaddon twitched to life.

Readying his side-arm and a particularly nasty surgical implement, Fabius prepared for battle. He knew the power of the Warp well, it coursed through Fabius' patient and mutated him. Fabius was a lesser warrior by Astartes standards, but he calculated he could euthanize Abaddon in his stupor before he fully awakened.

Jolting and twitching like a live current was tracing through his muscles, Abaddon dragged himself off the operating table. Shooting a hand out like a viper, he clutched Fabius' foot with an iron grip. Abaddon stared up at his surgeon, ferocious willpower etched into his face, and a curious Warp light pouring from his missing eye. Glowing with supernatural power, Abaddon croaked out words in a wrasping tone that told Fabius his vocal chords were still in the process of repairing. "Take me to my father, I have something of his."

To Fabius' shock, he felt the unmistakable presence of a Primarch from Abaddon. A lesser shadow indeed, but still something beyond mistaking. Slowly, Abaddon rose to his feet and Fabius felt his mouth fall open against his wishes. The Astartes had grown massively, nearly matching a Primarch in size. The psychic energy bound within Abaddon had invigorated his magnificant organ, healing him and bulking his body to near Primarch heights.

The scientific mind that made Fabius so prized set to work as he and Abaddon stared at each other. The magnificant was only half of the godmaker gland, and the countless other augments and alchemical forgings that made a Primarch were missing. Abaddon would not match any Primarch, but he now stood above any Astartes. Stronger, faster, smarter and tougher than any other mortal. He was possibly comparable to an elite Custodes, but Fabius lacked the data to be sure. It was a sour note for him that the Emperor refused knowledge of the golden brotherhood.

*CRACK* Fabius was brought back to the present when Abaddon put a power-fist sized hole in the wall above the apothecary's head. The psychic flame in Abaddon's missing eye flared brighter as he spoke again. "Now!"

Quickly, Fabius escorted his patient out of the laboratories and handed him off to Custodes patrolling the complex. Whatever happened now was not his problem. Back to work he went. Fixing twenty Legions and musing about what over alterations or improvements were possible to the Astartes form. Preparing for his next patient, he stopped to check the gene-vault registry for the best match of gene-seed. As he peered through the data, something caught his eye. Geneseed was missing. An entire numbered batch from each bloodline. Checking the access records, he realized the Sigillite himself was the culprit. Nonplussed, but confident in Malcador's loyalty. Fabius figured it was another project of the Emperor's. Still, the fact that all twenty of the legions six hundred and sixty sixth batch of purified Geneseed was gone seemed rather strange.

* * *

 _Location: An artificial cavern somewhere within Titan, Moon of Saturn._

 _Date: 814.M30_

Malcador the Sigillite stood in the massive subterranean structure being burrowed into the cold rock of Titan. With more senses then he should possess, he watched the process of excavation and construction. At the Emperor's orders, a series of fortresses were being built within the moon. Shadowy repositories where the Silver Order would operate from. Unlike nearly all of the Solar System, Titan had been virtually untouched by human hands throughout the species' history. Disturbing rumors and tragic accidents had plagued Titan since the first Saturn colonies. Keeping all but the bravest and the most stupid of pioneers away. This pattern was not mere statistical anomaly, of course. The veil between certain and possible was razor thin here. In fact, the first Warp experiments conducted by mankind had taken place on this now deserted rock. Malcador himself was not certain which came first to Titan. The experiments or the reputation. That was even before his time.

In his wisdom, the Emperor had selected Titan to house the Silver Order and other additions to the Adeptus Umbrex. Construction had started almost the moment Talons of the Emperor landed and surveyed Titan during the Solar conquest. The creation of this new headquarters had fallen to a joint commision of Warsmiths and Occultits in Imperial employ. Filling it had fallen to Malcador, or at least partially. Using the already vast resources of the Adeptus Terra, Malcador had found hundreds of possible candidates. Each one of them a loyal citizen. Who had proven themselves worthy in some regard.

Through numerous trials and cullings, only a few dozen remained. The Silver Order would require the best of what humanity had to offer. Its founders and leaders need to be more than that. Five Executor and a handful of Agents would form this bedrock. Each had proven themselves worthy time and again. Most recently, in a ritual that would form the Orders heart.

At the Emperor's orders, a single drop of his cloned blood anointed each founders forehead. This diluted shadow of the Emperors essence burned a distinct mark into them. A ][ shaped scar on their forehead that offered protection from Chaotic taint. By being infused with the Anathema's power they became empowered and protected against the evil and unreality of the Great Enemy. In the presence of the Warp's taint, the scar would burn again, providing a harsh warning against the immediate danger of the Dark Gods' power. In the coming millennia, the agents of the Silver Order would all be marked in this way. Alongside this, each agent would be gifted a badge of inscribed silver, vesting in them the confidence of the Adeptus Terra. Through these twin sigils the Silver Order would be marked as servants of the Emperor.

These initial members were now hard at work building the organization they would lead. Countless arcane treasures and secrets were being ferried to the largest of the moon's fortresses. This Sanctorum Citadel as it was named would be the chief center of the Order. It was a massive thing of polished stone and inscribed metal, rising from Titan's fog like some colossus of old. At its very heart would be a blood cloner of immaculate making. Where a vial of the Emperors blood would be recreated over and over. Malcador could already see the day when the first tainted candidate would enter that hallowed hall. They would be certain in there trickery. Hoping to steal the Emperor's gift in the name of Chaos. The traitor would die screaming as the ichor burned through his skull like liquid fire. A similar fate would befall any agents who gave in to temptation and believed the Great Enemy.

The Silver Order, while important, was not the reason Malcador was here though. In fact, he was on the direct opposite side of Titan from the Sanctorum Citadel. His journey took him within an unfinished fortress that would match the citadel in every way but one. It was inverted, sticking into Titan's bedrock instead of out of it. This unnamed fortress would house another, far deadlier and more secretive tool for mankind's ascension: The Silver Knights. An order of psyker warrior-monks who would battle the forces of chaos. They would be the third member of the transhuman trinity that would protect humanity. The Golden Custodes, the Steel Astartes and the Silver Psi-Knights.

The creation of this new breed of warrior had been yet another of the many projects the Emperor had engaged himself in. Malcador stood beyond mankind in countless ways, but the Emperor's intellect and sheer ability sometimes startled him. Of all his countless plans and schemes, Malcador knew maybe the least about the Silver Knights. He was familiar with the basic concept though. They were designed to be a strike force of Anathema-blessed Space Marines who could quickly and efficiently handle Chaos incursion and Daemonic attacks. The details of their order or their methods he could only guess at. The twenty batches of enhanced Geneseed provided ample clues however.

Malcador now journeyed deeper into the fortress. The watchful eyes of Custodes following him with every step. The inversion within the citadels design went beyond simple reversal in polarity. Whereas the Sanctorum was built to shield from the Warp, this fortress channeled it. Its complex psychosensate architecture acted as a tuning fork, drawing up a stream of pure spiritual energy born of the Astronomicon's purification and god-forging. It was gathered and molded into Anathematic currents of power that filled the Fortress. Turning it into a sepulcher of golden power, untouchable by the Dark Gods.

In its center, directly opposite the Silver Orders anointing chamber, across the world, waited the Emperor. The concentrated warp-stuff was near blinding, even discounting the Master of Mankind's aura. With keen witch-sight, Malcador peered through the sacred fog and watched his Lord's work. All this energy and the ritual science at work served a clear purpose. The Emperor was attempting something unheard of for millions of years. Of course bastardized versions like what occured on Moloch happened, but this was a refined and attuned version of a feat the ancient Aeldari named God-Calling.

The Emperor had been forced to reclaim through force the first calling, ripping the power from thirsting gods and escaping the heart of Chaos. Now, he had power solely belonging to him: the souls of honored martyrs in the grimdark future. They would be perfect for birthing new legends and demigods into flesh.

Faint psychic feelers traced across Malcadors mind and he understood why he had been called. Malcador would be a witness and judge for what would come. An honor given to an old friend. Surrounding the Emperor were eight transhuman bodies. Each a custom grown hybrid of Custodes and Astartes bio-sorcery. They were modeled on various stories, Monster hunters, Daemon slayers, protectors of humanity. All eight were in a state of death, soulless with their chests splayed open. The Emperor had removed one of each of the twin hearts the bodies possessed. Why he had done so soon became apparent.

Floating in a halo of silver light around the Emperor were eight spheres of silver light. At the center of them were ancient gemstones. Carved from mother Terra, and blessed by countless faiths. Malcador quickly understood the silver light inhabiting the gems was all that remained of the Angel. Eight shards of the broken spirit, placed in eight ritual stones. Powerful ingredients, yet not the only ones in this process.

Using the power and resonance within the chamber, the Emperor pulled five thousand three hundred and twenty eight souls from within him. Each a celebrated Astartes, and all had died for there God-Emperor. One by one, the Emperor asked each soul a simple question: "For most, duty ends in death. Will yours?"

All five thousand and more souls responded. "Even beyond death and rebirth they would serve." The souls were split into eight portions. Six Hundred and Sixty Six added to each crystal, providing ages of wisdom and humanity to temper the Angel's power. Then the gems, carried along by the currents of anathema-energy, took the missing hearts' place.

Seeing that his work was progressing, the Emperor turned to Malcador. A galaxy of souls stared into the Sigillite's soul. In that moment Malcador felt what the Prophet Mos must have on Mt. Syhai. He stared into the face of God. It was great and terrible in magnificence. Here, away from prying eyes and consumed by his work, the Emperor had dropped the facade. He was the Human Anathema, godcaller, soulkeeper, Master of Mankind, ancient protector, dragonslayer, bastard of ancients, Lord of Sanity and Reality in all its glory. With words that could reduce worlds to blind awe, he asked Malcador: "Shall we take the next step upon the shining path together, my friend?"

Tears of gold poured down Malcadors face as he nodded his consent. The ancient psyker gripped his staff hard enough to crack his withered bones as he watched. The channeled power poured into each body. Tidal waves of warp-energy infused with the figures suspended in the air, bonding the crystal hearts to flesh and healing their surgical wounds. The power became one with the newly born demigods. Their very flesh and blood became infused with the Warp. Once simple meat, they were now living conduits to the Sea of Souls.

This miracle of warpcraft combined immaterial and material together. Creating eight Silver Paladins to serve the Emperor. Detecting Malcador's awe, the Emperor let out a small, understanding smile, and spoke to his friend in a rapturous voice. "While impressive it may be. This is but a pale shadow of the Primarchs' creation. I used a single saga to breathe life into these eight. So very much more went into each of the twenty. My sons are god's given flesh, these are but humble Archangels."

The first of these newborn Archangels took a breath, The Paladin sucked in the cold oxygen of the chamber and asked the light that created him: "who… who am I? Garro? Azkaellon? These memories, whose are they?"

The Light answered in calm thunder. "They were who you once were, now you are Mîkha'El: Paxiarch of Order. The First Lord Paladin of the Silver Knights. "

The answered calmed the incarnated angel. An identity to focus and meditate on. With each awakening, the other seven were named. "Kiddu, Hellzing, Sol-Vukong, O'Seimei, Persaeus, Jediah, and Dolzak. The Lord Paladins of the Silver Knights."

Each of them were armed and armored in blessed silver and adamantium. Knowledge infused by the Emperor and their past lives filled the Eight, giving them the wisdom to know how to properly use the tools that they were given. As one, they soon bowed to the Emperor and swore fealty to the Master of Mankind. With those formalities, the Silver Paladins left the two ancients to start there duties. They were each a shard of the Anathema, perpetuals bound to a gem of pure light. The ten thousand knights who would follow their footsteps would be born of hybridized geneseed. Twenty batches, one from each Legion would become ten thousand progenoids of this new breed of transhuman. Another brotherhood of heroes to match the Custodes.

Like the sun setting, the Emperor dimmed and returned to his human form. "The Great Enemy took a fallen champion of theirs and remade him into a threat". The Emperor said, looking every bit the avenging force of order and justice. "I shall return the favor eight-fold."

The Silver Order and Knights were born. Another tool to help protect humanity. When the Great Crusade left Sol, it would be armed and armored in Gold, Silver, and Steel.

* * *

 _Location: The Bucephalus at Sol's Mandeville point_

 _Date: 817.M30_

It had taken two years, but the Imperium had returned itself to new heights. Twenty reborn Astartes Legions, the Imperial Auxilia, the Mechanicum of Mars, the Silver Order, and the Talons of the Emperor stood ready to retake the galaxy for mankind. The Primarchs had taken time to get accustomed to there fathers newest creations. Some feared replacement for there recent failures. Those worries were put to rest soon enough. The twenty brothers soon came to respect there otherworldly and anomalous kin-beings.

The light of the Astronomicon illuminated all its light touched with order and sanity. But on the fringes of the galaxy, beyond the reach of the light emanating from Sol, the material world tore itself asunder as the Warp thrashed in its eternal game of horror. The Four battled for dominance, seeking to exploit the illuminated weaknesses while protecting their own. Across the galaxy, chaotic cults dissolved into civil war as their gods went to war with themselves. All pretense of cooperation and undivided chaos were but a distant memory. The madness created such a horrid storm that any warp-space untouched by the Astronomicon was unavigatable. The reaches of the Ultima Segmentum become awash in warp-storms that matched the worst of Old Night This would not last forever though, the Emperor knew that. Eventually, his threat would temporarily unite the Four and the respite would be over. Until then, a galaxy of threats awaited.

The Orkish Empires grew like the fungal infestation they were. Fueled by never-ending war with themselves and others. Even now, the great call of WAAAAGH echoed through the Warp as Beasts of Armageddon clashed for dominance. The Old One's lesser folly needed to be dealt with, and fast.

Across the galactic north, the Emperor despised looking. The sheer horror of entire worlds being devoured by the Rangdans was stomach churning,. Like all viruses, they did not kill cleanly. If unchecked, they would infect all life and bring about a doom ghastly enough to match Chaos' machinations.

On uncountable worlds, the Dragon's kin and former slaves slept, waiting to reclaim the galaxy for reasons that varied from banal to insane. The Aeldari remnants were also fast organizing. The Dark City bloomed and the Craftworlds mourned the Fall. For the Webway to be truly mankind's, they and the last Old One must be bound or broken. Then, to add further complications, self righteous petty-kingdoms of fellow humans would resist unity. In their hubris, they were desperate to retain freedoms they were unworthy of. Gladly marching to extincion or worse, simply because they could.

All these threats faced the Imperium of Mankind, each threatened to strangle mankind's destiny in its crib. Standing aboard his flagship, the Emperor answered this galaxy of nightmares with a command.

"A new dawn has come! All ships, activate warp drive!"

With the thunder of thousands of warp-engines the firmament grew bright. Humanity had once again left Sol, and once again the galaxy awaited.

* * *

 _Location: Valley of Laponis, Macragge_

 _Date: 817.M30 (Terran Time)_

Falling stars were often referred as omens throughout human history. Even in domains and ages were the truth of their nature was known, they still held significance. This proved true upon the world of Macragge, where they are associated with good fortune and divine boons. So when reports across the Ultramar Kingdom spoke of a star burning through the sky and impacting in the northern wilderness, it was taken to mean great things were in store for the mightiest nation upon Macragge.

This quickly changed once the nightmares started. An epidemic of horrible dreams and night terrors spread across the kingdom, rippling from the northern wilds like some spiritual shockwave. With each setting of the sun, fear gripped the normally stoic citizens of Ultramar. Sleep was fast turning from respite to source of fear. All across the Magna Macragge Civitas, the night was punctuated by bloody screams and panicked yells. Poor souls fell asleep and were now trapped within their worst fears and thoughts.

Ultramar was not a superstitious kingdom, religion and tradition had its place. Science, reason, and analytical thought were considered high values. Used to govern and run the state. This made the appearance of doomsayers and fanatics screaming of divine judgment all the more bizarre. Every night, the situation only intensified. The barbarism of fear and paranoia had grown deep roots across Macragge.

One lunar cycle into the madness, Consul Konor Gulliman took it upon himself to find answers. Wise and strong beyond his years. The young politician had proved himself in the arts of politics and war. Showing leadership and level headedness, he rallied a cohort of Macragge's soldiers to investigate the nightmare's source. Theoretical: some Xeno, or ancient artifact had triggered a psychic phenomena. Practical: the nightmares had been first noticed in the villages surrounding the Valley of Laponis.

The remote valley was one of the more wild places on Macragge. Hera's Crown Mountains were named as such because of the valley. The great range was roughly oval shaped with the valley forming a cleft in the middle. The opening of the crown, to match the peaks points. Surrounded by steep jagged mountains on all sides, it was remote and only the wildest huntsman and wanderers inhabited it.

Konor had visited it once before as a youth. A number of the noble families of the Capital city had taken to hunting the Valley. Its remote location providing solitude and natural wonder to the Macragge elite. Then, it had been a jewel of ancient woods and mountain fed streams, untouched by human hands and home to statuesque herds of mountain cervidae. The old temples of the Civitas told tales of Dia, Goddess of the Hunt, and her pack of wolf-daughters stalking its forbidden groves. Konor payed such things little mind. His religious beliefs were a private affair, he honored the old pantheon, and his ancestors. The legends were exactly that, stories to guide and teach. The gods, if they ever existed, were long gone, no matter what the lunatic prophets claimed when the Warp storms had intensified these last few months. While the Warp's instability had cut off Macragge from its trade partners in other systems, this was no evidence of a clash between gods or other such nonsense.

So when the Cohort, with Konor at its head, reached the valleys opening, the consuls words were out of character.

"By the gods…. What has happened?"

From their vantage point in the cleft between two mountains above the valley. The cohort could see its entirety. Gone were the verdant hills and lush forests. Ash and the husks of dead wood remained.. The raw stink of death and decay polluted the mountain air. The war-steeds of the expedition were instantly spooked. Some instinctual knowledge filled them and there riders of the danger lurking below. Even so these citizens of Macragge had a duty to fulfill.

At Konors orders the expedition traced the mountain path down into the valley. Taking note that the death and rot seemed to intensify with each step. Deeper and deeper into the now barren valley they marched. Where in the heart of the valley, they found there target. Smashed into a bluff was a crater. Like some unholy arrow of judgment, the fallen star had burrowed a cavern into the hill.

A pool of contaminated water lay at the cavern's entrance. The once pure glacial pond fouled by putrefied matter and excrement. The source of the runination formed a barricade at the lip of the cave. Piles and piles of bones were picked clean and scattered in a makeshift refuse pile. Nothing aside from the three hundred and one men of the cohort lived in this damned hollow. This was the source of the infestation that had killed the Valley of Laponis, Guilliman could feel it.. Something within that cavern had drained the very life from this once beautiful domain. Konor knew on some instinctual level that it was also the nightmares source.

Whatever it was, the cohort would discover the truth. A fast rider had been sent back to the capital, a contingency if the worst happened. Konor Gulliman had no intention to die here, but he was a practical man. A danger unlike anything he had faced was nesting in the valley. As Consul of Ultramar, it was his duty to protect its citizens.

With stubber and charge-blade in hand, he led the force to the cave mouth. Multiple ranks of soldiers were prepared to open fire on anything that exited the cavern. These were experienced citizen-soldiers of Ultramar, bloodied against the bandit clans of the north, and handpicked by the Consul himself.

They died badly. Before the cohort could react, a great shadow exploded from the cavern. Some massive hulk of twisted flesh and metal moving at speeds beyond mortal ken. The creature leapt over Konor and smashed into the first line of soldiers. Scything talons shredded muscle and bone. It's great clawed fists crackled with witch-fire. In the time it took Konor to spin around and open fire, a quarter of the cohort was little more than burning corpses.

The monster weaved between stubber and las fire with supernatural grace. Each blow punched through plasteel armor and reduced a literal handful of soldiers to burning shreds. Konor had faced warp-craft before, and this atrocity stunk of such things. His brilliant mind dueled itself, as emotion and logic battled. Theoretical: this monster was beyond anything in Maccrages records and was supremely deadly. Practical: he was about to die.

Konor emptied his stubber's clip into the creatures flank and shouted frantic orders that went unheard in the cacophony of violence. The monster's armor deflected every projectile and blade that attempted to pierce its hideous organic armor. The consul doubted anything less than artillery would crack its blackened shell. As the thing busied itself with Konor's soldiers, he noted its bizarre appearance. It's form resembled a man, at least partially. Decked in broken armor of Tartarus theme. From each hand stuck great claws that matched a man's torso in size. Psychic flames coated the talons and swirled around the creature, forming a burning mantle. Instead of a man's face or helm, its head took the form of a vaguely draco-lupine form. It was disturbing in many ways, the least of which was how it moved and acted like living flesh, despite being formed of burnt metal. Below the waist, any semblance of humanity was discarded. Its midsection was a mess of burnt tissue and putrefying flesh, crudely attached to warp-crafted legs made of cursed bone and sinew. The necromantic construct resembled insectoid limbs and added another level of horror to the creature.

Nothing seemed to even slow the monster. The only impediment to its slaughter was the sheer numbers of the three hundred strong cohort. It took the beast time to cleave through the humans, time that a lesser or more practical man would have used to flee. Instead, Konor fought valiantly alongside his soldiers. They all knew that if this evil was not stopped here, it would eventually make its way to their homes. With courage and honor, they would die to defend Macragge, and so they did.

After what felt like hours of carnage, the cohort was reduced to more corpses filling the monster's refuse pool. Throughout the fight, the creature would take time to devour soldiers, ripping limbs off screaming warriors and swallowing them with its metallic maw. Now, with the threat dispatched, it set to work consuming the fallen, tearing into human meat like a starving hound. All of this was watched by the sole survivor. Konor Gulliman lay in a pool of blood, and only some of it belonged to him. The creature had seemingly ignored him throughout the fight, only paying enough attention to rip off Konor's arm. To the consul's credit, he had managed to cauterize the wound with his charge blade. Despite his emergency treatment, he was in no fighting shape, especially not against a monster of that size and speed.

He could try and run, but it would be futile. Konor knew how fast it could move. So instead he waited, looking for any sign of weakness or opportunity to exploit. The monster spared him for some reason. Konor swore it would regret that decision. With his little remaining strength, he clutched the antique charge blade held in his remaining hand. After an eternity of disgusting noises as the monster finished eating his subjects, it turned to Konor.

Stalking over on its pincer-legs, the monster bent down to look into Konor's eyes. The beast's breath was horrid. It was a mix of rotting flesh and industrial chemicals. Konor averted his gaze from its coal-black eyes. He know only madness lay that way. Still, he tried to strike the monster. He lunged frantically at it with his blade, hoping to pierce the monster's skull. To his horror, a telekinetic grip caught his hand and bent it back, twisting his joint out of place and eliciting a scream from Konor. The consul realized the monster could have killed all his men through warpcraft or xenoscience, it had chosen to rip them to pieces. This was no mere animal.

Further proving Konors point, the monster spoke into his mind. Like grating steel, it scraped along his psyche. "I am Korban the Eversacrifice, chosen prophet of Chaos. You wear the symbol of an old enemy, mortal. Who are you?"

As it said this, a single long talon tapped the inverted omega insignia of Ultramar on Konor's chest. The acid-fire that coated its claws marred the blue symbol and started to burn through the outer layer of Konor's armor. Marshaling his courage, the mortal man answered. "I am Konor Gulliman, First Consul of Ultramar. Kill me and be done with it, fiend. May the gods have mercy upon my soul."

The monster responded with a deep, hellish laugh. Its titanic hand gripped Konor and lifted him high. The Everchosen thrust its words into Konors mind once again. "The gods are many things, mortal. Merciful is not one of them. In another time and place, you would be instrumental in the birth of a mighty kingdom. Five hundred worlds united under order and prosperity. Ruled by your adopted son, carrying your name and virtues for more than ten thousand years. Right here and now, you are just another sacrifice."

With those terrible words, Korban opened his cast-iron jaws and sank his fangs into Konor. The consul died screaming and weeping as the monster devoured him whole. When all that remained of the noble citizen of Macragge was a pile of bone and armor Korban turned its attention to the world he had crashed on.

By the gods' will, he had been spat from the warp in Macragge's orbit, it had taken every ounce of his psychic power and dark blessings to survive impact. The Valley of Laponis had fed him well. The meat and misery of its fauna resorting him slowly but surely. His body had regrown in new twisted manners, his distant humanity as Argel Tal long discarded. Now, the souls of Konor and his minions empowered him further. The memories and torment belonging to his meals gave him new strength and wisdom.

The War between the Gods had stirred the Warp to unfathomable degrees. The Astronomicon still burned strong, powerful enough to stop the schemes of the Four from materializing anywhere its light touched.. But out here in the Ultima Segmentum, at the edges of its influences, the storm drowned it out. Macragge, the five hundred worlds, and countless other planets at the galactic fringe were isolated like islands in a hurricane. They made for easy prey for those touched by the divine. Korban now knew why the gods had cast him here, on damned Macragge. The Anathema was building an empire. Korban would do the same.

(Thank you to Klickator for Editing!)


	27. Additional Material: Silver Knights

Ordo Umbrex Militant I: The Silver Knights

"None escape the reach of the Righteous." -The Emperor of Mankind

 **Primarch:** All twenty through gene-seed hybridization.

 **Symbol:** Skull-capped ][

 **Colors:** Metallic Silver with countless ritual marks engraved into it.

 **Capital World-** Titan, Moon of Saturn.

 **Specialty:** Anti-Chaos operations, high-value occult target elimination and ritual disruption.

 **Battlecry:** "The Emperor Protects, and So must we"

 **The Eight Lord-Paladins**

The Silver Knights geneseed was born from hybridization of all twenty genetic lineages of the Adeptus Astartes and is extracted the most powerful and anti-chaotic qualities in each line. It is then was further enhanced and manipulated by the Emperor. As such, the Knights lacked a Primarch to lead them. To combat this, the Emperor crafted eight Super-Astartes to lead the Knights. These eight beings are perpetual born from the Angel's power, souls of fallen heroes, and an improved hybrid of the Custodes and Astartes creation process. While pale imitations compared to the might of a Primarch, they each possess formidable psychic power and the knowledge of hundreds of fallen Astartes. These Lord-Paladins are listed below. Each is named after a Monster slayer of human myth. Their individual temperament and abilities reflect these legendary names. Names such as O'seimei and Jediah, indicate their strength as masterful sages. Or Peraseus and Dolzak, confirm them as legendary warriors and slayers, and all of them take power from their names, and the blinding power of the Emperor.. The Lord-Paladins act as a council of equals, each specialized in a different field of expertise.

 **Mîkha'El: 1st Lord-Paladin and Paxiarch of Order.** The firstborn Lord-Paladin and best leader/strategist of them. Most often found within the Segmentum Solar, or the largest active warzone against Chaos where he puts his tactical genius and charisma to use destroying the forces of Chaos. Mikkha'el is an extremely skilled swordsman as well, combining martial technique with psychic powers to a devastating degree. The closest the Knights have to a public face, and oddly charming for his order.

 **Kiddu: 2nd Lord-Paladin and Cleanser of Corruption** : Chaos corruption is an eternal danger to the Imperium. The oozing taint of the Warp infesting worlds beyond count. Kiddu specializes in the purification of corrupted worlds and locations. Patient and introverted, the Second Lord Paladin spends as much time in his laboratory as anywhere else. Refining new methods of purification. A master of Biomancy and Sanctic Daemonology, Kiddu's ultimate goal is the discovery of a method to permanently cleanse Daemon Worlds.

 **Hellzing: 3rd Lord-Paladin and Hunter of Horrors-** Across the vast galaxy, powerful agents of Chaos work to fulfill their foul masters' will. The grim and brooding third Lord-Paladin has made it his quest to root out this source of corruption. Hellzing travels the galaxy, hunting the most powerful and dangerous slaves of darkness in existence. Leading his specialized brotherhood, the third Lord-Paladin stays away from most roles expected of him and his brothers. Instead, he devotes himself to the search, using powerful telekinetic and telepathic powers to hunt and aim true.

 **Sol-Vukong: 4th Lord-Paladin and Defender of the Innocent-** Flamboyant and energetic, Sol-Vukong is one of the most physically powerful of all the Lord-Paladins, wielding biomancy and pyromancy to turn himself into a living meteor of avenging flame. Jovial to the point some wonder if he does not take his duties seriously, Sol-Vukong specializes in the defense of at-risk zones and protecting civilian populations from Chaotic invasions. He accomplishes this not by siege work, but by providing a rallying point for defenders and breaking the enemy command structure with his Force-Staff.

 **O'Seimei: 5th Lord Paladin and Master of Rituals-** A patient and an extremely powerful psyker, O'Seimei is a specialist in sorcery and arcane rituals. Many of the warding arrays across the Cadian Gate are his work. Pensive to the extreme, O'Seimei constantly seeks new methods to lock the darkness away. He can often be found exploring the Warp and cataloging its wisdom away in great archives within Titan. He also works extensively with the IV Legion, providing occult enhancements to their fortifications.

 **Persaeus: 6th Lord Paladin and Warrior of Light-** Mighty and proud, Persaeus fights on battlefields across the Imperium. Eternally seeking the mightiest horrors Chaos possess, he constantly challenges the champions of chaos and breaks them upon his warhammer. Larger than life, both figuratively and literally, he towers over his brothers and even some of the smaller Primarchs. Taking full advantage of his physical prowess, he channels his psychic power into raw strength and destructive force. Countless Daemon Princes and other fiends of the Warp have fallen to him, and many more will.

 **Jediah: 7th Lord Paladin and Sage-Lord** \- Similar to O'Seimei, Jediah prefers to use his psychic powers as his tool of choice. Yet unlike his older brother, Jediah prefers to use his spiritual might to fight foes directly, shedding ritual craft for displays of great psychic power. A battle magi beyond mortal skill, he destroys foes with psi-techniques that burns Daemon hoards, raises regiments of fallen heroes, and eradicates massive warp-horrors.

 **Dolzak: 8th Lord Paladin and Purging Flame-** The lastborn Lord Paladin, Dolzak possesses a degree of perptualhood beyond even his brothers. Where his sibling's souls are bound to their crystal heart and will slowly heal as long as their heart is intact, Dolzak can take huge amounts of punishment and regenerate near instantly, using a unique instinctual type of biomancy to feed off the energy of destroyed Daemons to power himself. Wrathful and hotheaded, Dolzak prefers the hellscapes of the Chaos Gates as his area of operation. There, he takes great pleasure butchering his way through hordes of chaotic filth, carving a legend of mankind's vengeance upon the neverborn foolish enough to attract his attention. While preferring to be on the frontlines, Dolzak is also a skilled commander in purge operations, organizing the efficient destruction of entire chaotic civilizations.

 **History of the Legion**

Born on Titan like the Silver Order, the Silver Knights originally consisted of the original founding eight who quickly set to work expanding their numbers with the "Silver" geneseed gifted to them by the Emperor. As such, they along with the Silver Order were absent from the early days of the Great Crusade. Both organizations spent the first twenty years of the Crusade preparing for the inevitable return of Chaos, and trained themselves relentlessly to be prepared for the continuation of the war. When the first batch of Silver Knights trained, they were dispatched in master-crafted Argent vessels to the Imperial Crusader Fleets. Their arrival was neither hidden nor announced. They simply appeared, going about their business at the direction of the Emperor's chosen.

These first Silver Knights were well trained and powerful, yet inexperienced. Relying on the Lord-Paladin's teachings, they were quickly tempered in countless battles across the Great Crusade. Suffering heavy casualties, but never losing a battle. Throughout the Crusade, the Silver Knights traveled from points of Daemonic taint. Although the forces of Chaos were severely weakened throughout most of the Great Crusade, they were still highly dangerous. Multiple chaotic civilizations were encountered by Imperial Fleets, Often requiring entire Brotherhoods of Silver Knights to destroy the most dangerous zones of corruption.

As the crusade continued, the Silver Knights earned honors to match even some Legions. Yet they are far more secretive and less known than any other branch of the Imperial Military. This anonymity has led to them being an open secret discussed in hushed tones by the Imperial Elite and resulted in a semi-mythical reputation. While more often dealing with Daemon Worlds or mass corruption events, the Silver Knights were found on the front lines of multiple macro-conflicts of the Crusade. It is said that entire Fleets were saved by the actions of mere squads of Silver Knights.

These legendary deeds formed the first archive entries upon Titan. These include but are not limited to, disrupting the summoning of Ghargatuloth upon (REDACTED). Cleansing the Damned Craftworld of Zaul'anka. Destroying the Khrave Husk-golem during the Rangda Wars. Assassinating all six Bloodmonger lords of the Charnal Nebula. Stopping the Dreamwalker culling attempt on Nalla-2, and erasing the Memevores from possibility.

 **Astartes Biology**

Appearance- The Silver Knights are abnormally pale for Astartes. They possess skin that ranges from albino white to ashen grey. Their hair that similarly goes from silver to grey. Lacking a single Primarch or recruitment location, the Knights vary in build and facial features. Where some Legions geneseed reforges youths in miniature versions of their Primarch, the Silver Knights keeps most of their traits other than a loss of pigment and silver eyes. Traditionally, the Knights partake in ritual tattooing after important events. These tattoos take the form of metallic runes adorning the Argent Astartes' pale flesh.

Unique Organ- The Ghost Heart. Deep within the Silver Knights fortress on Titan is the Chamber of Rebirth. Here is where the Emperor created the Lord-Paladins. leaving a semi-stable warp-rift that bleeds Anathemic energy which produces a steady buildup of warp-crystal with unique properties. Many Imperial tools and artifacts use these crystals as components. The highest quality shards are claimed by the Silver Knights. These crystals are refined and carved into an exquisite psionic anchor. These are then inserted into the neophyte Astartes' primary heart where it bonds with the muscle tissue and enhances the Silver Knight's psychic abilities. This artifact provides a spiritual core, facilitating the Argent Astartes' soul-calling abilities. It also serves the purpose of protecting the Astartes' soul from summoned spirits while simultaneously acting as a ghost beacon.

 **Organization**

 **Brotherhoods-** The Silver Knights keep a standing force of 10,000 battle-brothers, divided into 40 different 250 man Brotherhoods. Additional support Astartes, commanders, and specialists are not counted towards the 10,000 number. Each brotherhood is trained and equipped to act as an independent strike force that is roughly equivalent to a Legion Chapter. Brotherhoods are deployed on missions and watch duty across the Imperium, operating where needed and only cycling back to Titan for resupply and reinforcement. The Lord-Paladins typically operate with multiple brotherhoods under their command. Each brotherhood has a nickname and honorific related to its achievements.

 **Recruitment-** The cultivation of humanity's psychic potential is the Emperor's ultimate goal. Part of this mission involves the careful control of Psykers through the Adeptus Psi, whose job it is to catalog Psykers and find roles for the Warp-touched. Of these Psykers, some possess a unique attunement to the Astronomicon, displaying abnormal stability and affinity for the Santic Daemonology. The best youths of these beacon-touched psykers are taken to Titan where they are reborn as Silver Knights. At the Order's top secret facility, these recruits undergo harrowing geneforging and psychic training. This process has the highest mortality rate among all Astartes to the point that the low rejection rate of the "Argent" bloodline geneseed barely counterbalances the creation rites' sheer attrition. The Lord-Paladins are not Primarchs, lacking the ability to produce Geneseed beyond their own prognoids, limiting the Silver Knights and forcing them to keep a large supply of Geneseed on Titan to ensure they can replenish. All but the most desprete times a Lord-Paladin is present upon Titan. They oversee the training of all recruits while they are on Titan. Leading to different "schools" of Silver Knights who take after the Lord-Paladin who garrisoned Titan at the time.

 **Homeworld: Titan-** The Silver Knights reside within the Fortress Terminus, where the Sanctorum Citadel of the Silver Order faces out to the Solar System. The Fortress-Complex home to the Silver Knights faces Saturn. This fortress lies under the frosty surface of Titan, stretching for kilometers in every dimension with a starport, fortress, and city of thrice-blessed serfs who operate the fortress making up its top levels. The middle floors contain the Silver Knights' facilities such as their dormitories, training chambers, armories, apothecaries and forge centers. Here, the Silver Knights are created, armed, armored and rest between deployments. An entire colony of Tech-Priests specializing in anti-corruption tech and blessed manufacturing was imported from Mars and crafts the daemon slayers' equipment.

The very deepest layers of Fort Terminus contain the secrets of their martial order. Underneath countless layers of protection both physical and spiritual, archives of forbidden arcane lore and reliquaries holding the most blessed and cursed items held by the Imperium are just the surface. Far below even that is a system of catacombs. Daemons and warp-horrors that fail to die are locked here, secured behind countless wards and guarded by the catacombs' other occupants. Every fallen Silver Knight is buried here as well, their blessed corpses so infused with Anathametic energy that even in death they quell the nightmares. Whispered legends say that when the Imperium faces its darkest hour, when the Dark Cells of Terra and the Bright Cells of Titan are cracked open, when the Gods slowly start to rip down the walls of actuality, the Emperor will call his fallen servants. The dead Knights will answer, and this Legion of the blessed will rise to serve even in death.

 **Hierarchy and Unique Ranks-** The Hierarchy of the Demilegion known as the Silver Knights is unique while similar to the Twenty Legions. It includes a handful of unique positions alongside the more common Techmarines and Apothecaries.

 **Lord Paladin:** The first eight Silver Knights. One is always on Titan, overseeing recruitment. Three more are always deployed at the Three Great Rifts. The final four go wherever they are needed. These roles rotate every few decades or centuries depending on the specific threats and circumstances facing the Imperium of Man.

 **Master Paladin:** Commander of a Brotherhood. Skilled warriors, leaders, and strategists who take missions as they see fit. Master Paladins will often work alongside a Silver Order High-Executor to ensure optimal deployment across the Imperium and ensures that every chaotic infestation is met with overwhelming destructive force.

 **Paladin Captain:** An officer who oversees five squads, or twenty-five battle brothers which comprise the average deployment to an engagement. They also serve to ensure coordination between squads and make on the ground tactical calls.

 **Champion and Arch-Champion:** Champions are specially selected and trained Silver Knights who possess unusually potent psychic and martial prowess. They are given the duty of finding and eliminating high-value targets, often times Daemon Princes, Greater Daemons or Ritual Masters. The quick elimination of these highly dangerous foes often proves the tipping point in battle. Each brotherhood possesses one champion, who often takes apprentices who form his combat squad. When a Champion is slain, the best of his apprentices is elevated by the company's Master Paladin to replace him. The Arch-Champion is a temporary rank enacted in crisis where a single extremely powerful warrior is required. This Arch-Champion is often a Lord-Paladin, but not always. In these crisis situations, the best warrior among available Knights will take the mantle. His battle-brothers will then invest all their psychic energy to empower the Arch-Champion. This often harms the contributing battle-brothers and typically kills the Arch-Champion once the battle is over. The damage is so bad it can take even the Perpetual Lord-Paladins years to fully heal. In exchange, the Arch-Champion can for a short period reach levels of might only matched by the greatest Primarchs.

 **Grey Sages:** Powerful psykers who use their arts in ways not strictly martial. Divination, ritual work and the like are their duties. When on the battlefield they provide powerful supporters of their Battlebrothers. Enhancing them with psi-powers and assisting with tactical descions.

 **Battle-Magi:** Silver Knights who possess a level of stability and power rarely matched. Trained in the use of massive psi-techniques that can change the flow of battle and cause immense devastation. Deployed separately from normal squads in War-choirs that focus their power together in devastating displays of psychic wrath.

 **Paladin:** The standard Knight. Battle-tested and warp-trained, these Argent Astartes outclass their Legion counterparts in many ways. They are deployed in five-man squads and are built to purge the Warp's horrors, calling upon blessed weaponry and armor further enhanced by their considerable psychic powers.

 **Legion Culture**

 **Personality-** Of all the transhuman warriors of the Imperium, the Argent Astartes are renowned for being simultaneously some of the most empathetic and harshest to serve. The culture and psi-genetic imprints of the Silver Knights lend themselves to service and sacrifice. These warriors also have an unwavering desire to protect and serve the human race, displaying compassion and understanding unimaginable in some of their cousins. This aspect of the Argent Astartes also bleeds into their more horrific duties. None understand the evil of Chaos better than them, save the Emperor and his chosen. So when the time comes for the tainted to be purged, the Silver Knights will cut down citizens and civilians without pause, finding peace in the fact that they spare these poor souls more suffering. This compassion is reserved for the innocent, those corrupted by no agency of their own. Those who invite Chaos and serve it willingly are met with cold-hearted doom. The Silver Knights will protect humanity, no matter the cost and are unshakable in their purpose and being. These Astartes will perform acts of heroism and atrocities side by side, all with the same love and desire to keep the species safe.

 **Customs-** Monastic even by Astartes standards, the Silver Knights bury themselves in their duties, following strict rituals of meditation, study, and training of both mind and body. Even so, a few customs mark them out. Most famous are the ritual tattoos found across the Ordo Militant. These tattoos are awarded for accomplishments, yet are more than simple decoration. Created using technology related to Mechanicum Electoos and Librarius focus-hoods, the tattoos help stabilize and channel warp energy through a Knight's very body, enhancing the warrior both physically and spiritually. The patterns vary depending on the specialty and focus of the bearer. Older and more experienced Astartes will possess more of these psi-tattoos and are often covered in a veritable mural of metallic sigils, forming a beautiful pattern that marks the Astartes' story and makes them better warriors.

Ritual has an important role for the Knights, their symbolism and mysticism helping them mentally while also further focusing their psychic power. Battle-Psalms used to synchronize the Astartes are sang on and off the battlefield. It is a hauntingly beautiful sight of a brotherhood marching to war, with hymns of righteous power upon their lips. Similarly, dirges of grief and pain accompany purges and burials. Composed by the Libarius, these songs are meant to channel psychic power and can have unique effects on the listeners, rallying panicked mortals with the Knights courage, or soothing those beyond salvation as they receive the Emperor's peace.

Of all these rituals and practices, few have the importance of burial rites, both for the Silver Knights and their fallen allies and charges. After battles, Silver Knights will often help consecrate burial grounds or markers to the fallen, honoring those lost against Chaos. Silver Knights serve until death, and are buried in the Catacombs of Titan. They will go to great lengths to recover a fallen battle-brother's remains. Even in the most desperate retreat, they will retrieve the honored dead's Ghost Heart for it to be interred. Failure to do is considered a mark of shame upon an Argent Astartes. It is not unheard of for entire Squads to go on redemption hunts for a fallen brother's remains for years after his death.

 **Unique Features: The Spirit Calling-** Psychic powers are the Silver Knight's sword and shield. The arts of the Legion Librarius are widespread, and even the weakest Knight has the skill and power to match an average Legion Librarian, with psychic schools being favored by different Knights for different uses. Biomancy to strengthen frontline warriors, telepathy to improve battlefield communication, telekinesis to defend and pyromancy to attack. When it comes to these arts, the difference between a skilled Librarian and a Silver Paladin is negligible. What makes the Argent Astartes unique goes beyond simple training or even their attunement to the Emperor. The Silver Knights possess a unique and highly powerful branch of psychic power; the Spirit Calling, which is the summoning, control, and channeling of deceased souls.

When a sentient being dies, its soul or warp-connection is disconnected from the material, leaving the energy, memories, and existence of the deceased loose in the warp. Here, they are quickly meet a number of fates. Most are absorbed by something within the Warp, but some souls fall through the cracks, either by resisting their natural fate and becoming loose in the warp, or pulled from that route by a Warp-Predator. Due to this, a vast quantity of unclaimed and damaged souls can be found within the Warp and are almost exclusively in places of Daemonic activity or great pain.

The Ghost Heart organ imbues the Silver Knights' souls with unique properties. Predominantly, the power to sense and manipulate these souls, gathering the unquiet dead to them and using their power to fuel spells, rituals and psychic feats. Such necromancy is possible to most psykers, but quickly drives them insane. Anathemtic energies contained within the Ghost Heart protect the Silver Knights, letting them precisely control exactly how they call spirits and what they do. Additionally, this tiny shard of the Emperor's light can collect the souls worthy to join the Emperor. These become the spiritual familiars of fallen uncorrupted humans who serve a Silver Knight until the Knight's death. When the Silver Knight is buried upon Titan, these saved souls join the Astronomicon and the human oversoul.

This power inspires great respect for mortal life in the Silver Knights, who often see themselves as the guardians of the lost dead. They feel compelled to save those thought missing in the Sea of Souls, and destroy the daemonic predators who disturb the fallen. Powerful Silver Knights can use this power to incredible degrees, such as ripping Daemons apart by freeing the freshly devoured, teasing arcane secrets from the dead, or letting fallen warriors rise once again as spirits to avenge themselves. The Silver Knights, much like their creator, guard both the living and the dead.

 **Battle Strategy and Equipment**

 **Tactical Doctrine-** In all but the most serious occasions, a single Brotherhood of Silver Knights will be deployed into a warzone. Once there, they will disrupt any rituals and destroy Daemonic threats before they can fully manifest. To aid in this endeavor, brotherhoods are split up into squads that each handle a certain target, moving to another once their target has been eliminated. Time and tempo are important when dealing with Daemonic threats, and being able to stop rituals or banish a Daemon before it fully materializes mitigates much damage. As such, the Silver Knights doctrine is one of overwhelming force applied to the most important and arcane points of the enemy. The Silver Knights are not often deployed alone. They will join existing battles and aid the Legions and Auxilia by disrupting the enemies' warpcraft. More strategic strike-missions involving only a brotherhood or even a few squads are not unheard of though, but only occur against a small but powerful Chaotic target. The specialized nature of the Silver Knights makes them highly effective against Chaos, but less so with more mundane foes.

 **The Five Roles-** Each member of a Silver Knight squad plays a singular role in the survival and success of the unit. Together, the five act as a near-perfect tool of daemonic purging, sometimes employing specialized Knights with mechsuit wearing heavy variants and vehicle operating pilot formations. The five roles listed below are:

 **The Shield-** Defensive specialist who uses their psychic powers to defend the rest of the squad. Biomancy, telekinesis and mighty ward-shields aid in this endeavor. Wields a great banish-hammer alongside his ward-shield

 **The Sword-** Offensive specialist who hack through Daemons with incredible martial talent. Arguably the most destructive squad member, but heavily relies on fellow members for protection. Fights with a weapon in both hands: a beautifully crafted banish-blade in one, and a sidearm of choice in the other.

 **The Destroyer-** Wielder of powerful ranged weapons, the Destroyer uses flame, blessed bolt or molten silver as needed. He supports the other squad members and deals with foes who slip past the Sword and Shield. Divination is often practiced to improve accuracy. Pyromancy and Telekinesis are common arts among the Destroyers as well.

 **The Binder-** More psychically active than the first three, the Binder is an expert in ritual craft and Sanctic Daemonlogy. He casts powerful boons and maledictions to help the squad and cripple their foes. Their knowledge of sorcery is used to investigate and effectively combat Chaotic powers. Fights with psychic arts and banish-weapons of ritual power, such as staffs and rods.

 **The Cleanser-** Employer of the less subtle psychic arts, the Cleaner unleashes powerful psychic powers to destroy the foes and burn away corruption, channeling arcane wrath through Force Staffs and bringing doom to the unclean. Trained in apothecary arts, healing with biomancy and medical science.

 **Weapons and Armor-** The Silver Knights are equipped with highly specialized gear, made to be potent tools of banishment and protection against the Warp. Every part of a Silver Knight's arsenal is personalized and mastercraftedy some of the most gifted techpriests in the Imperium in order to support and enhance the skills of that Knight.

 **Anointed Class Power Armor-** A modification to Imperial Standard Power Armor, this suit is crafted with a complicated lattice of psionic wards within its structure. Its ceramite plates are engraved with countless ritual symbols and infused with trace elements of silver. Ultra-high purity silver and iron is inlaid within the Armors internal components, making mere contact with the armor is extremely painful and dangerous for the Neverborn. The helm possess an inbuilt Libarius hood and warp-touched auspex. While the ritual materials used in it decrease its defensive properties compared to standard Astartes Power Armor, its warp-resonant effects and psi-amplifier properties provide unparalleled protection against Chaotic threats. To compensate for this decreased durability, kine shield autocasters are installed into its machine spirit, allowing the armor's wearer to quickly and efficiently erect kine shields.

 **Banish Alloy Weapons -** The so called banish Alloy is a result of centuries worth of alchemy and psience. Its molecular structure is insanely warp resonant. capable of channeling psychic power stably and efficiently, making it a perfect material for force weapons. The base elements of the alloy also lend themselves to fighting Daemons. Silver, iron, sodium, adamantium and a few more exotic substances that are the byproduct of Gellar Fields are key components of the material. Psychic weaponsmiths take this composite metal, and form it into powerful and deadly tools of destruction. Due to the cost of production, Banish Alloy is only used in the highest end melee weapons and is even rarer in equipment.

 **Silver Bolts-** For ranged weapons, the Knights use special Silver Bolts that are mechanically similar to a normal bolt round except for its casing. The high purity silver that make up the exterior and a few internal layers of it are engraved with canticles of doom. Just like a normal bolt round, a gyroject punctures the target before detonating, causing extreme trauma to the target. With a Silver Bolt, the explosion is accompanied by silver shrapnel that simultaneously burns corrupted material and disrupts warp contamination. Multiple varieties of these rounds exist for every conceivable need of an individual knight. Some are marked with gigabytes of ritual binary to cleanse corrupted machine, while others burst the moment they leave the barrel, launching a cannon blast of molten silver.

 **Fleet and Transport-** Each brotherhood travels the galaxy in a trio of strike cruisers which are specifically modified for the duties of the Knights. These Silver Ships accompany the Legions, patrol the Chaos Gates, or simply wander the Milky Way hunting Neverborn threats. Each Lord-Paladin has a flagship they use which vary depending on its owner. Mîkha'El for example, flies his banner upon the demi-legions' single Gloriana class battleship. These vessels come equipped with advanced equipment to aid the Knights in their duties. Foremost among these is the Penitent Compass. A cruel device that uses a captured Daemonhost to predict and locate Chaotic threats. The Daemonhosts' physical body is plugged into a navi-cogitator that reads the waxing and waning of the Daemon within to triangulate where the veil grows thin and Daemonic activity is likely.

Deepstriking into locations where the Warp and Materium overlap can be highly dangerous. To combat this, the Silver Knights use Rapture Pattern Drop Pods. These advanced tools of war blur the line between drop pod and drop ship and are designed to safely transport its passengers from orbit to even Daemon World conditions. The Rapture Pattern is far more heavily armored and armed than any drop pod. It can deploy interceptor drones and Data-Djinns to hinder enemy flak or auspex. While already expensive and difficult to craft, the key component of the Rapture Pattern goes above and beyond. A "partial" gellar field is built into the drop pods core. Lacking a powersource, it requires the passengers' psychic abilities to activate, creating a bubble of realspace that allows the Drop Pod to punch through almost any warp based defenses.

While the Silver Knights prefer infantry deepstrike assaults, they maintain a respectable amount of armored vehicles, with most being modified versions of normal Astartes grade tanks and transports. Crewed by Silver Knights who specialize in technomancy, these vehicles are extremely formidable. Unlike nearly all of the Silver Knights arsenal, these craft are not specialized for anti-daemonic activity. Instead, they are meant to transport Silver Knights from hot zone to hot zone, providing covering fire and protection against more mundane foes the deployed Paladins are not meant to deal with.

 **Trivia**

The Silver Knights work extensively alongside the XI and XV Legions. The three all specialize in warp threats. They share a good working relationship and friendly rivalry over which one is the best at their duties.

Some powerful Paladins are known to have fallen battle-brothers as familiar spirits, allowing their closest comrades to serve even in death.

The use of xenos spirits is frowned upon and only to be done when absolutely needed.

Banish Alloy smelting is extremely difficult. Failed batches can be still used to a certain degree as ammunition for Silverthrower Cannons or ritual material for wards.

Dolzak the 8th Lord Paladin has been presumed dead on multiple different occasions, as he is know to sacrifice himself in horrible last stands upon chaos infested worlds. Months to even centuries later, he will wander back into Imperial space. There, he will make contact and resupply before traveling to the nearest Doom-Zone once more.

Chaotic infestation is broken into a few levels. Areas that experience that chaos corruption are referred to as Hot-Zones. The most common classes are listed below

Tainted Zone: Chaos cult activity and rituals underway. Possible possessions, but no fully summoned Daemons.

Corrupted Zone: Daemons can materialize at least partially. The Laws of physics start to bend as warp and material overlap.

Rupture Zone, An active Warp Gate is present. The Warp is flooding into the material. Greater Daemon class threats can manifest fully. The usual level that Silver Knights are called in for.

Doom-Zone, Daemon Worlds, stable warp rifts, and the Realms of Chaos fall into this category. These are places where the Warp supersedes the Material and cannot be fully banished.

The Lord-Paladins can only die if their crystal heart is destroyed. No known method of doing so exists.

Effective ways to truly kill Daemons are few and far between. The Silver Knights research this extensively, but are mostly forced to rely on banishment or sealing .

Powerful Silver Order agents can request a Paladin Squad to be loaned to their Shadow Cell.

While every Legion possess an extreme hatred and disgust for religion, the Silver Knights are only rivaled by the XVII Legion for the sheer intensity of their antipathy. Much like the Emperor, the Knights role in the human afterlife is heavily connected to their antipathy.

Some spirits that are bound to the Silver Knights refuse to join with the human oversoul, even once their binding knight dies. Instead, they haunt the Fortress Terminus and offer their expertise and service to battle-brothers they deem worthy.


	28. Side Story: The Crusade Begins

**Collection of early Great Crusade stories.**

 **Cold Steel and Hell Fire**

Location: The Imperial Palaces Battlements. Terra

Date: 815.M30

The veritable army of laborers on Terra worked constantly upon the Imperium's massive public works. Every able-bodied man or women found employment with the Adeptus Terra. Economic, social and cultural growth bloomed across the Homeworld. Trade and resources streamed across Sol as the citizens of the Imperium worked to rebuild the damage done by the Lunar Rebellion. It was an age of heroes and miracles. New hope, one of a better tomorrow, spread like wildfire. Of all these projects, none compared to the majesty held by the Imperial Palace.

The rapidly growing citadel of mankind's master shone from orbit. Its battlements towering into the heavens. These mile high structures could withstand the fiercest bombardment. Nothing less than multiple Titan legions could hope to crack the still unfinished defenses. The genius of Terran Warsmiths, Martian Priests and the Primarchs was poured into it. The IV and VII Primarchs in particular had shown a passion for this study. Rogal Maur and Octaviar Perturabo worked in tandem to craft a mixture of beauty and deadliness that defined the palace.

Perturabo often retired to these high battlements to reflect. The colossal structures' altitude and secluded nature provided the Primarch a place of solitude. A place he now used to rest from his duties in rebuilding and improving the Sol System. Something weighed heavily upon the IV Primarch. He had received a gift like all his brothers before leaving to conquer Sol. The nature of this blessing had disquieted Perturabo. A great statue by an ancient Terran sculptor was presented to him. The Gates of Hell by Rodin the Franc. Perturabo gazed upon the intricate work taken from Malcadors museum and wondered. With a burning hand, the Emperor then touched his forehead and spoke: "This my son, is your gift"

By some psychic method, Perturabo had been linked to the Astronomicon's firetide of warp-flame, the eternal clash of anathematic and chaotic energies found at the edge of mighty warpstorms or rifts. This gift allowed the IV Primarch to instinctually sense these rips in reality. Perturabo had been told his role to play in the Emperor's plan. Once the Great Crusade had ended, the IV and his Legion would guard the gates of hell. The Eldar's Folly, the Maelstrom, and every other place that bled corruption would become their arena, where they would forever beat back the stuff of nightmares. .

This additional sense had fast become part of Perturabo. It had allowed him to organize near miraculous defenses during the Chaos invasion of Sol. Sensing where a rift would open before it did. Then predicting when new waves of Lost and Damned would pour through proved to be a valuable tool, Since receiving his gift, Perturabo had not had time to fully understand it. Shortly after its bestowment, Perturabo and Iskandar had been tasked with conquering Venus and crushing the local Psi-Lords along with their monstrous concoctions. These so-called War-Witches had found an ancient manufactorium for Golden Age constructs. They replaced the malicious A.I with bound Neverborn, turning the salvaged robots into Lithogolems. Perturabo had made quick work of them. His brilliant and analytical mind had work extraordinarily well with his brother's drive for excellence, and the psykers had been no match for the might of two full legions of Astartes. It had seemed that he would be given a brief respite to focus on the blessing his father had given him. Then, the Lunar Rebellion had struck, further stealing his attention. Now, in this short period of peace, he had time to reflect on his gift.

Where his brothers gained arcane relics, lost technology or futures beyond grandeur. To Perturabo, it seemed his father had instead cursed him with the burden of an impossible duty. His destiny seemed to be one of eternal strife and misery. Even here on Terra, where the Astronomicon was brightest, he could feel the gnawing hunger of Chaos pressing out of the Warp rift. The Eldar's Folly was the worst of them all. From it, the Gods peered into reality coveted all they saw with malicious avarice. To Perturabo, this cosmic peephole was an Eye of Terror. It was ever present and watching, with the attention of the Four flowing through it eternally.

Sitting atop the mountainous battlements, he let his senses expand, staring into the Warp as it stared into him, studying the Eye of Terror as it shone in the Terran skies, undetectable to the teeming world except for Octaviar and his Father. The evil rip in existence was Perturabo's gift. Where his brothers had swords, talismans, and thrones, his prize was the great Hellmouth. This left a bitter taste in the Primarch's mouth. Part of him wondered if he had somehow displeased the Emperor. The more troubling thought was that it was the exact opposite. Did his father trust him too much?

Octaviar's mind had already started working on designing defenses. In his mind's eye, he was already mentally turning the worlds surrounding the Eye into a steel circlet. Creating an eternal and unbreakable kill-zone to trap the Daemons with cold metal. Perturabo knew he could do this. It was well within his prodigious intellect and skill. He just didn't know if he wanted too. He would be subjected to a life spent toiling away at his father's orders in a never-ending siege, spending his sons lives in a sector-sized meat grinder. Perturabo instead wanted to build wonders. He wanted to make creations that would rival and even surpass the Palace. The fact that his brother Rogal would be the one guarding the Palace the two had spent their childhood building also stung.

The two had always been surprisingly close. Rogal Maur was not quite Octaviar's intellectual equal, less a polymath and more a consummate professional, capable of taking any task and completing it with the same stoic resolve. To Perturabo, that seemed perfect for the role he had been given instead. Let Rogal guard against hellfire with his stony strength. Why must Perturabo instead bear such an ugly burden? The Primarch wanted to craft paradise, not guard the pit.

Looking up at the cracked moon and the Eye of Terror, Perturabo angsted. If this what was truly required, he would do his duty. Too much rode on the Primarchs. A wounded Ego and jealousy were unbecoming for the Emperor's sons. Turning around, he looked up at the highest peak of the Palace, where the Astronomicon's light burned. The great star of psychic fire was mesmerizing, an eternal symbol of the Emperor's influence and glory. Staring into the golden light, a whispered question escaped his lips. "Why?"

A voice came from within the bastion's edge that served as Perturabo's hideout and startled the Primarch. "What troubles you Perturabo?"

Sneaking up on a Primarch is a near impossible feat. The voice belonged to a being who should not be capable of such things. Uriah Olathaire, the Imperial Confessor stepped into the moonlight. To brave the altitudes and cold that were present upon the ramparts would require nothing less then void-gear for a mortal man. Yet Uriah was bedecked in the same simple robe he always was. In his surprise, Perturabo pulled his ever-present sidearm. The elderly aid to the Emperor stared at the boltgun with an expression of bemusement. "I apologize for startling you, Lord Primarch, but I doubt that is needed."

Holstering the weapon and grunting an apology Perturabo asked "Why are you here Uriah? More importantly, how are you here?"

Smiling softly the former priest responded: "Both answers, like most things on this planet, can be traced to your father. The Emperor required a confessor who could hear and judge Him no matter what. As such, the limits of my body were all but erased with a thought. For why I am here? Well that answer is you. My duty in this life is too provide counsel and advice to the Imperial Family."

Returning to the slab of stone he used as a chair, Perturabo sighed and stared into the Confessor's gilded eyes. "What words of advice do you offer?" responded the Primarch. He did not appreciate his sanctum being violated. Unlike some of his brothers, he had never been close to Uriah. He found the Confessor irritating and probing.

Not responding to the bite in Perturabo's words Uriah turned to look at the Astronomicon before speaking. " Your father is an interesting paradox. So profoundly human, yet disturbingly beyond our species. His thoughts and plans are incredibly intricate and wide-ranging. Even in his best attempts, he sometimes fails to make people understand all that he wishes to convey. One of my duties as Confessor is helping his full message be conveyed."

The Primarchs face was an impassive mask, for he did not want to show any emotion or give anything away to Uriah. And the more he attempted to conceal his feelings, the more he displayed them. Never to be called handsome or even beautiful like some of his siblings, Perturabo was often likened to a great mountain, majestic in his own formidable way. His voice at that moment brought to mind this metaphor with the image of two great peaks grinding against each other, such was its tension. "Well then spit it out. What do you think I am missing in my father's words? He sends me to guard against the flames of hell. Is it a compliment, a slight? To me, it seems my Brothers all have fates they find agreeable. Why must I be the exception? "

Idly playing with a Aquilla badge fastened to his robe, Uriah chuckled. "In another life, I was a priest, the last priest, in fact. A true believer who helped the Emperor understand humanity better. In return, he helped me understand his grand plan. That fateful day, we both saw each other's flaws. I've always had a talent for that, Perturabo. I see the flaws and mistakes in the world. In my youth, I hoped prayer and sermon would fix our cosmos. Now I know that only through action and hope can anything be changed for the better. As another gift from the Emperor, my ability to see the flaws in things has been taken to a superhuman degree. He once remarked: "A surgeon must have good eyes and a steady hand. Similarly, a counselor must see and be willing to act upon the truth." That is how I surprised you, dear child. I saw the flaw even in you."

"That does not answer my question. For one who claims to speak the truth and explain the esoteric, it seems you speak in circles." spat back Octaviar. Disgusted at the very idea of even a former slave to false-gods having the Emperor's ear.

Matching the Primarch's snarl with more collected calm, Uriah continued. "I tell you all this so you might understand the truth of my next words. The only flaw in the Emperor's plan for you, is how you have viewed it. What you desire and your fate in His plan line up perfectly. The Master of Mankind does intend you to guard the Warp with a strong mind and fist. He also wants you to build something there. Your very name provides hints to what he hoped to convey. Octaviar Perturabo, translated and interpreted from an ancient language, means 'Builder of Empires that forever Endure'. The Emperor crafted you as a polymath and genius in so many topics because you were never meant to just wage war."

Sighing and gesturing around at the Palace as he spoke Uriah said: "You were created not only to fight an eternal war where the Warp and Materium bleed together. The Emperor wants you to build wonders at the gates of hell. He wishes for you to create every utopia, monument, and citadel your mind can think up, along with every weapon, strategy, and fortification. Perturabo, The Emperor wants you to take the entrance to Hades and turn it into Arcadia. You shall refute the Chaos Gods by building a civilization like no equal at their doorstep. There will be war and the threat of Chaos, but is a fact for all of us. Your duty is to be the first line of defense in the war for worlds and souls. Show the glory of humanity to all and defend it with your might. Perturabo, you were born to craft an invincible paradise where the Gods hope to create our ruin. The ancient sculpture he gifted you was a token to enforce that message. A beautiful creation marking the entrance to the underworld"

No noise other than the chill wind existed on the summit of the tower for several moments. Like a reverse avalanche, the hulking demigod rose from his seat and placed a titanic hand upon the former Priests shoulder as he spoke. "I see my father chose well with you. I was foolish, unable to see the full picture. Thank you for opening my eyes, Uriah."

With that, the Primarch left the Battlements and returned to his quarters. He had blueprints to draw, worlds to design and wars to be won. Uriah did not know for certain, but he swore that as the Primarch left he saw a hint of a smile upon Octaviar's face. The IV Primarch set to work with reborn productivity. His talents in war and peace would be put to perfect use. Octaviar Perturabo began to work designing a cage of cold steel that would be both impregnable and beautiful. It would be perfect for containing what dwelled in the dark.

It was a moment of triumph for both Primarch and Confessor, a moment the IV Legion would later memorialize in countless statues and murals. In some cosmic duality, the event sent ripples across the immaterium. Ripples that reached somewhere else, somewhere under layers of soot-clouds and stained iron Awakening a monster of machine and spite. It peered out from its kingdom within the Eye of Terror. Upon the timeless world of Medrengard, a simultaneously ancient and unborn/aborted Daemon Prince awoke. The Lord of Iron hungered for War. It sought to soothe its wounded ego and soul. With the death and misery of those, it proclaimed weak. Another Perturabo arose and started its own march to war.

* * *

 **The Wounded Legion**

Location: The XVI Legion Barracks Complex, Terra.

Date: 814.M30

Across the infant Imperium, the Lunar Rebellion caused a noticeable shift. The blood and iron shed to protect the entire system earned the trust of newly assimilated solar states. A sense of optimism and confidence spread through the solar system. This new zeitgeist was still tempered by a sense of foreboding. Humanity now had a chance to reclaim the galaxy, but the literal legions of hell and countless xeno horrors stood in the way. Reactions varied, Uriah, Phillip and their respective acolytes ensured that the people's utter faith in the human spirit was irrefutable, and among the Legions a sense of excitement and invincibility was common.

The experiences of the rebellion and the implantation of enhanced Geneseed had further tempered the Astartes. Each bloodline reacted uniquely. Some feasted and swore oaths of brotherhood. Artistic masterpieces related to the failed insurrection popped up within various Legion Complexes. Even the most somber of the Twenty took stoic pride in the success. Only one legion proved an exception to this atmosphere of celebration. The XVI had been wounded, suffering the worst casualties of the entire battle. They had lost many of their Legion's most respected warriors, nearly their Primarch, and most tragically of all, their self-confidence.

While they had not truly lost any of the battles they waged on Luna, the death and resurrection of Horus proved traumatic. Officially, Horus had been gravely wounded facing an unspeakable monster from the depths of the Warp and needed intense care from the Emperor to heal. The far grimmer truth had spread in hushed whispers across the XVI Legion. The accounts of survivors from within the cult's temple were told to awestruck recruits and horrified battle brothers. Few things gossip and whisper like disheartened soldiers away from combat. This knowledge rattled the Astartes, they were close to there genefather, closer than almost any other Legion. A sense of failure and inadequacy had become rampant. If they could fail in protecting Horus, what else would they fail at?

To further complicate matters, this feeling was shared by the Lupercali. The normally charismatic and respected Primarch had changed. He had become sullen, taciturn and self-isolating. Horus was not there when his sons needed him. The Primarch had withdrawn from his sons, doing the bare minimum of his duties and spending his time locked within his study. The XVI Legion took all of this as confirmation of their failure, for why else would their Primarch abandon them unless they were unworthy?

In truth, Horus did not hide himself away out of any malice towards his sons. Instead it was out of shame. The event another reality would call the Horus Heresy played over and over again in his mind. Horus felt unworthy and disgusting. To know you are fully capable, and responsible for dooming every human being to an extinction of nightmares is something none could possibly bear lightly. So Horus sat in his study, staring at the Spear of Destiny and pondering fate.

The Lupercali felt broken. His father had told him as much himself. He had been damaged in his mind, body, and soul. His right eye burned away, memories undermined his being, and an ethereal wound permiated his soul. Horus had been unable to stop the Dark Gods. He had only been able to deny them, and it cost Horus dearly. Part of him wondered if he was truly worthy of being called a Primarch. How could he, considering he had been broken and mutilated so easily? As usual, his thoughts then shifted to the Spear and he found himself once again pondering its purpose and power. Did his father really not trust him enough that he had gifted him a tool of protective suicide?

Horus felt his mind inexplicably drawn towards the Spear. Whenever he ventured down this path of brooding and misery, it ended the same: the Spear and what it did to him. It had been stabbed into his brain, and in some metaphorical way it still was. It was always at the edge of every thought he had. Whether he was drilling his Legion, formulating battle strategies, or simply training, the Spear was always pressing at the back of his mind. So month after month. Horus sat within his study and pondered it, trying to understand why it kept pulling him back to it's light. He suspected some part of him was still within it. The severed part of his soul residing within, perhaps.

Grooming himself and dressing in simple fatigues, he turned to leave his chambers to start a new day, preparing to put on a mask and hold court with his Legion. As he left, he reached out for the spear, without even realizing it. Just before his fingers touched the ancient metal he paused. Primarchs are true superhumans. Every act and action is weighed and measured at speeds beyond human thought. Impossibly, some instinct had tried to make him grab the Spear without his intent. Shaking his head softly, as if to dispel what ever vexed him, Horus left the troubling relic and journeyed to his court.

Each Legion held a court, where strategy, ceremony and discussion took place. The current XVI Court was held within the grand hall of their barracks complex. Horus entered the austere but beautiful chamber in the somber, dour mood that he has possessed for the last few months. Although he masked his emotions well, the XVI Legion was one of the most psychically attuned Legions to their Primarch out of the Twenty. Though he gave no outward sign, some imperceptible feeling put the entire court on edge. The hundreds of Astartes and mortals milling about kneeled as one to his presence. Silently, Horus took his seat upon a polished white-marble throne. With a gesture he commanded the court to rise. They did and the day started in earnest. Logistics were discussed, strategy was debated, and ancient records were consulted. Everything they did contributed to the role that the XVI Legion would take in the Great Crusade, and even working with intense psychological damage, the Lupercali showed his utter mastery of the art of war. Throughout the proceedings, a weight of misery seemed to cloud the chamber. While their cousins celebrated and prepared with vigor. The XVI seemed to be stumbling along in a daze.

The court continued until a great boom echoed through the chamber. The mighty stone-doors forming its entrance were thrown open with terrifying force and purpose. To the shock of the Legion a giant strode into the hall, completely nude except for an impromptu loin-cloth crafted from a Astartes robe. The giant was clearly an Astartes, but stood over even the largest XVI battle-brother. Sweat soaked black hair covered his shoulders and twin Custodes flanked him. With the stoic emotionless that marked their kind, one of the Custodes proclaimed: "Apothecary Primus Fabius of the III has completed his restoration of Master Ezekyle Abaddon. He is now delivered to his Legion."

Without another word the Custodes turned and left. Silence filled the hall as the giant shook his hair from his face, exposing the Lupercalian features and sharp jawline of Abaddon the Redeemer. Shock rippled through the crowd as the massive Astartes marched towards his Primarch, father and son locking there remaining eyes. Determination poured from Abaddon as he approached. Massive iron-taught muscles moved as Abaddon kneeled before his father. Speaking in a familiar but somehow more powerful voice, Ezekyle said: "We have returned."

Shouts of celebration and clapping filled the hall. The hero of Luna had rejoined his brothers. For a brief moment, the months of misery and anguish evaporated. Rising from his throne, Horus helped his geneson to his feet. A few of the Legion serfs in attendance murmured amongst themselves in surprise as they saw that the Redeemer almost matched the Lupercali in height now.. For a brief moment, the spear and the Heresy vanished from Horus's mind. His worry and guilt temporarily replaced by the fact that his favored son and the heart of his legion had returned to him. That moment of peace was broken as quickly as it came. Subtly, Abaddon whispered two words into his father's ear: "I know"

Icewater filled the Primarchs veins as he matched his son's eye, his stomach sinking as a cold sweat broke out on his palms as both of their missing eyes flickered with ghost-light. In that moment Horus understood why his subconscious drew him back to the spear over and over. It did not harbor his lost soul-stuff. It had transferred it. Abaddon held the wounded part of his soul. His transformation made this clear.

Quickly, Horus grabbed his son by the shoulder and escorted him from the chamber. Hushed whispers followed their exit as Father and Son retreated. Utter panic filled Horus. His worst fears had been realized. The fact that his brothers vaguely knew about his alternate self and the horrors the Lupercal had comitted filled him with despair. For one of his sons, his most favored gene-kin to know… He had no right to call himself a Primarch. Once they entered his chambers and he bade his son to sit, Horus wheeled around to look at Abaddon. "What did you see? how much?" he asked in a voice that reeked of humiliation and regret.

Horus expected to see fury or disgust in Abaddon's face. Insead he saw a calm stoicism. Softly, the Redeemer spoke, like a handler soothing a cornered beast: "Everything. The Heresy, the Siege, the Black Crusades. I saw what roles the Dark Gods meant for us to play."

A faint noise came from Horus, it took Abaddon a moment to realize what it was. The Primarch wept. Shame and disgrace oozed from Horus like a festering wound. Falling to his knees, the Lupercali felt worthless. An utter failure, damned by sins beyond count. He had failed his father. He had killed an untold amount of humans and damned the species to a long, slow decline into oblivion. The guilt he felt was what he deserved for what he had done. For what he was going to do. To be a Primarch and a failure? This was what he deserved, to be brought low and made to suffer in front of those he loved. To his surprise, Abaddon rested a hand upon his shoulder. With great adoration, the Redeemer spoke to his father as a mentor does to a wayward star pupil. "The actions I saw were not yours. and never could be. The monster of the Heresy sacrificed kin and cause to fulfill its ambition. That is not you and could never be you, Father. The Four offered you everything, asking only for you to betray us. You refused. You were given the exact same offer the Lupercal was, and you refused to such a high degree you were prepared to do the exact opposite of what he did. Instead of sacrificing everything for yourself, you were prepared to sacrifice yourself for everything. You stood tall against the forces of evil and won. They very fact you fought and died for the Imperium speaks volumes more than a mad vision of impossible futures. You look at me as if you expect me to loathe you, to hate you for what some other version of you did. Father, I love you. Not for any one thing you did or did not do, but because of who you are. On behalf of the entire XVI Legion, I say these words. You are our father. You have proven your worth through actions time and time again."

Horus looked up at his son, tears streaming down his face and whispered softly, as if saying it too loud would break the spell and end the dream. "Do you forgive me?"

Picking the Speartip up from the study's desk, Abaddon responded in the same gentle, soothing tone. "Father, how can I forgive you for crimes not your own? You are innocent of the Horus Heresy The Emperor, your Brothers and I all know that. Now you must too. It is time for the Lupercali to rise. For the XVI Primarch to be whole again."

At speeds only a Primarch should have been able to move at, Abaddon drove the speartip into his father's main heart. It had once given a shard of his soul to Abaddon. Now it was time for Ezekyle to give it back. The missing piece removed itself from Abaddon the Redeemer, flowed along the ancient metal and into Horus. Like a cornerstone restored, Horus felt himself be restored. Sparks of energy crackled across the Primarchs body as he stood tall. Taller than he had in months. Pulling the blade from his chest he looked at Abaddon.

The Astartes had retained his new bulk and his time as soul-host had altered him. More than a mere Astartes, but now free of a broken demigods heart. Father and son embraced once again, both of them baptised in fire, war and resurrection. The men who denied Chaos and shirked the title Warmaster left the study to greet the Legion and march towards the dawn. Gripping the shaft slick with his blood, Horus held the speartip. It would never leave his presence again.

Reborn and filled with power, Horus entered his court and addressed his Legion. "My sons, my comrades, my warriors! I must apologize to you all. In my suffering and misery, I neglected my duties and let my pain become yours. This is unacceptable. The False Gods of the Warp showed me visions of horror beyond belief. Convincing me of my culpability in atrocities. Ezekyle Abaddon has returned to us and helped me see the light, more than earning his title of 'The Redeemer'. The Warp's threat is terrible, it struck us low. Yet it is not invincible. We did our duty and succeeded. My sons we did not fail, for sometimes the only victory against the darkness is preventing its success."

"The Emperor once said those words and I love my father, but I say he is wrong! We shall prove him wrong! The dangers that haunt this cosmos shall not be merely stalled. The Emperor made us to be the tip of the spear. His Spear of destiny! We shall do what we were meant to: plunge ourselves into the heart of darkness and bring death to mankind's foes! The lessons of Luna will make us stronger. The XVI Legion will be the first to take a name. In ages past, the greatest warriors of the day came together in a brotherhood to protect pilgrims traveling to a holy land when they could not protect themselves. Not only were these warriors stoic guardians, but were the deadliest troops on the battlefield, ready to cut the head off the snake should the need arise. Through the struggles of the day were great, they persevered in the face of their crucible. In remembrance for the crucible that nearly broke us, and our duty to be the guardians of mankind upon its Great Path, we shall be known as the Lunar Templars!"

A triumphant roar broke through the Legions ranks. From shame and horror, recast, reborn under lunar light and shining spear. On that day, the XVI cast aside its numerical heading. Being the first Legion to claim a name. The Lunar Templars would do its duty and strike the enemies of man like a lance cast from the heart of Terra.

Somewhere else in the Imperial Palace, two beings played a game. The Revelation and the Sigillite sat across from each other, moving pieces across the board and discussing fate. The game currently rested on a single word piece. The cracked Sacrificed King could lead to Regicide for either side. A golden smile crossed Revelation's face as he pulled a card from the deck. Both he and Malcador stared at it in silence as he placed it on the board. The Spear card pushed the Sacrificed King forward, tightening the noose around Malcadors pieces. The Sigillite could still see how he might claim victory, but that possibility became harder and harder with each game they played.

Exhaling, Malcador stood up from the table and stared down as his four Crowned pieces. Each a match for the Emperors single Golden Crown. The game was far from over, he just wondered if he would live to see its conclusion. Till then he would do his duty and counsel his oldest friend.

* * *

 **Fear the Reaper**

 **Silver Order Archives**

File Security Level: V

File Name: Crusader-XIV-4-54

File Type: Military Compliance Record

Date: 870..M30

Imperial Actors: Crusader XIV, Argent II, Expedition XLII

Location: Segmentum Tempestus, Sector Foetari, Sub-Sector Barbarus Nebula, System Barbarus, Planet Barbarus Prime.

 **Part Alpha- Discovery and pertinent data related to Barbarus, compiled by High Agent Nyessario Stelzner**

This is a record for Imperial use of the events that occurred during the Military Compliance of Barbarus. An archival compilation sourced from official reports, eye witness accounts and Remembrancer prose, assembled for the purpose of preserving and transmitting the story of the Imperium of Man's first encounter with a major Chaotic threat post-Lunar Insurrection.

The Iron Wars and the subsequent Age of Strife had damaged the Segmentum Solar extensively. Being the heartworlds of mankind, the most horrific fighting occurred here, inflicting suffering that made it so that no major civilization aside from the Imperium of Man existed in the Segmentum. This provided the infant Imperium an extreme advantage, allowing the twenty Crusader Fleets to quickly and effectively eliminate the region's threats. The ruined but still resource rich worlds of the Segmentum proved a bounty for the Expedition fleets. Thousands upon thousands of systems were peacefully incorporated into the Imperium. STC's were recovered, Forge Worlds reunited with Mars, and throughout it all, Imperial civilization spread.

It took the Imperium a little over 58 standard Solar Years to establish an unbreakable grip upon the Segmentum Solar, providing a core of systems to fuel the Imperial warmachine and legitimize the dream of Unity. Threats faced by the Legions during this period were almost entirely degenerate human cultures and Xenos Horrificus infestations. Chaotic threats were rare and typically weak. The War Within the Warp had neutered the Primordial Annihilator's ability to influence the materium to a great degree. Slaves to Darkness engaged in ugly civil wars with one another and the conflict between the "gods" spilled over into their worshippers, reducing their ability to summon madness and control the Immaterium. Daemonic activity was rare, and easily handled by the Silver Knights.

The first major Chaotic threat the Imperium faced was 53 years into the Crusade. The XIV Legion had been engaged in a series of purges against a species of Ammonia-Breathers in the galactic south when a fleet of Silver Knight strike cruisers rendezvous with them. Carrying orders from Terra, the 2nd Brotherhood of the Silver Knights met with XIV Legion to discuss a new and terrible threat from within the Warp. The two forces had been trusted with undertaking the first campaign outside the Segmentum Solar: the conquest and subsequent purging of worlds within Nebula-4737.

Nebula-4737 is a resource rich astral body home to numerous star systems at the northern edge of the Segmentum Tempestus. The rare gases within the Nebula, along with the mineral deposits within the Nebulas systems. would prove a valuable boon to the Imperial economy. This was not the only reason the Nebula had been chosen for the first extra Seg-Sol (Segmentum Solar) campaign. Powerful warp disturbances had been detected within the Nebula's heart by long-range Cyberseers.

An unknown actor of chaotic nature inhabited the oldest and best hidden system within the Nebula, producing PA7 (A.K.A Nurglitic) corruption at a staggering rate. If left unchecked, the chaotic taint would reduce the Nebula to a sub-sector sized cloud of warp-touched miasma, creating a breeding ground for Chaotic threats while also making the entire Nebula unusable for Imperial industry.

Hence the XIV Legion, a specialist in Zone Mortalis and similar extreme warfare was picked for this task. The 2nd Brotherhood of the Silver Knights have long had a reputation for dealing with contaminated regions and macro-corruption. These two forces working in concert would prove the best option for successfully conquering Nebula-4734.

Deploying with little fanfare, the XIV Crusader Fleet set a course for the Nebula. Dozens of scout vessels were released into its gaseous expanse. It would be a difficult journey. Oozing corruption from the central system within the nebula distorted warp routes and obscured the Navigators' sight. There was little guarantee a Warp-Jump would transport the fleet to the desired mandeville point. They could be stranded in the void between stars, or entombed within a celestial body.

While normally in these circumstances, estimated jumps and material travel could easily counter these troubles the exotic materials coveted within the Nebula proved an additional problem. If the fleet warped into the heart of one of these cosmic cloud banks, the hyper active chemicals within might burn through the hulls of the ships, or react horribly with vessel discharge. Moric Thane personally calculated that a possible opening in the Nebula's swirling fog would appear every few decades. After which finding the system would allow the mapping of stable warp routes too and from. They did not have that kind of time, so more exotic methods were needed.

Occult Techno-Sorcery of the Silver Knights would instead chart the XIV Fleet's way. The Silver Knights split their vessels into five groups, surrounding the Nebula and using each vessel's Penitent Compass to triangulate the desired location. The misery of dozens of PA7 daemon-hosts all beckoned to the corruption's source, providing all the information needed.

Punching through the Nebulas mist and misery, the XIV Fleet arrived into the Barbarus System, the source of corruption. Its ancient star at the Nebula's heart barely bright enough to push back the chemical tide. The Barbarus System was an unremarkable place of rusted worlds and poisoned gas giants. Except for the Imperium's target. Barbarus Prime was unmistakably touched by the Daemonic. Its thick atmosphere seethed with Warp-Energy. The misery of untold billions toiling away on its fetid surface struck the fleet's psykers like a hammer blow. This world teetered on the edge of doom, one final push away from becoming yet another Daemon World that eternally leaked corruption into the surrounding void and nebula.

The history of Barbarus Prime is hauntingly similar to many worlds encountered by the Imperium at this point, while also being unique enough to be highly dangerous. When the first outbreak of Psykers plagued this once thriving urban world, it collapsed into chaos and madness. Daemon possessed Witch-Lords conquered the desperate humans and made them their thralls. These abominable hybrids of Human and Neverborn turned Barbarus into their own fiefdom. While most of these Witch-Worlds were destroyed by their very nature, the twisted version of Barbarus they created endured.

Necare the mightiest Second Born Overlord was instrumental in this necrotic "survival". Using sacred numerology and sorcery, he had predicted a coming calamity. Some great disaster would ruin Barbarus. To survive, the servants of PA7 must unite and grow with blessed fecundity. The very nature of Chaos meant that his mission would be one filled with hardships and setbacks, so Necare turned to the simplest and most effective method of binding lesser Overlords to his will: procuring a weapon strong enough to enforce loyalty. With PA7's blessing, a ritual culling of entire counties of diseased peasants was conducted in grand ceremonies of infestation and mutilation. A great and terrible Daemon of austere pedigree was dredged from the Warp.

Its very presence forced all but the most foolish Overlords to heel. Though they were all Daemonic and powerful, the thing Necare summoned went beyond their mutated minds could fathom. The Plague Maiden as it was called, was brought into the material and with it came Doom. Even sealed beneath the cursed-iron vaults of Necares' holdfast, the Maiden produced an endless storm of miasma, a creeping, filthy fog that poured across Barbarus, violating the untainted valleys and hollows below the world's toxic clouds. The poor mortal wretches of Barbarus rotted alive. existing in a state of unlife. Blessed with dark fertility and the endurance of PA7, these living corpses were fruitful, filling newborn cities with suffering warp-cursed humans.

This horror further weakened the walls between material and immaterial, giving rise to a terrible world where Overlords and Daemons ruled over vast nations of broken dregs. At its heart was Pale King Necare and the Plague Maiden. Both grew stronger and stronger upon a diet of plague and misery. The Maiden was bound under horrific spells and contracts. Barely obedient to Necare, it was shackled attack-dog. That suited Necare's plans fine. The Plague Maiden would soon turn Barbarus into a Daemon World and then spread corruption to the galaxy. A mighty deed that would raise the Overlords place of honor within the clan of decay.

What Necare did not know was the danger his sorcery had predicted would summoned by his own actions. Without the Plague Maiden, Barbarus would have been hidden from the Imperium for centuries, maybe even millennia. Instead, on 870.M30 Terran Standard, the Angels of Death came to Barbarus.

The caustic fog that made up the world's atmosphere prevented accurate auspex readings. Only the Silver Knights psychic power told the XIV the rough location of their target: A massive nation sized mountain plateau dotted with cursed cities and foreboding fortresses. Scout vessels were deployed onto the planet. Stormhawks and other lighter vessels meant to find landing zones and discover enemy defenses plummeted into the mist in search of stable ground. Only half of these craft returned.

The atmosphere of Barbarus was stained with more than simple material poison. Daemons and cursed life flew in the atmosphere. Bloated crow-things and clouds of giggling Nurglings had latched onto the Imperial scouts, chewing through the metal hull with warp-acids and feeding themselves into its turbines with mad glee. The surviving scouts had only scraps of useful tactical data. It would be enough.

 **Part Beta- Barbarus Battle Prose of Remembrancer Jeailia Glelpke**

The XIV Primarch Moric Thane was gifted by His Majesty the Emperor the title of Watcher of Cycles. He was entrusted with guarding the great system of life and death across the Imperium, allowing Moric to play the role of both healer and reaper, using his enhanced body and mind to find cures for countless afflictions, saving world after world from biological curses. While simultaneously destroying those beyond relief and the sources of their misery with horrific power. This is why he and Kiddu had been chosen for this task. Barbarus would be cleansed, and what survived would be saved by their hand.

Calculating and somber, the Primarch understood the best chance of salvaging the world and Nebula would mean destroying the source of the corruption quickly and cleanly. So the kingdom of Necare would die in fire. Using the data gathered the fleet picked hundreds of landing sights within the Overlords demesne. The XIV Legion would deploy across the mountain range. Smashing any resistance, clearing a path to its heart and holding off any enemy reinforcements. While the Silver Knights along with Moric and his personal company plunged into Necare's stronghold, destroying the source of corruption.

Great bombardments of lance bolts burned holes in the toxic atmosphere and Daemon swarms, giving precious moments for a storm of iron. Tens of thousands of XIV drop pods poured through the cloud gaps. Steel rain fell across the Kingdom of Necare. Its accursed inhabitants had already sounded the alarm. Lesser Overlords rallied to crumbling castles and commanded undead simple in Techcraft, these defenders were mighty in Warpcraft. Storms of destroyer flies were called into being, swarming across the rocky landscape like a living shadow. Cohorts of Plaguebearers arose from the flesh of cursed peasants. Puppeteered dead and corpse-golems the size of Warhound Titans marched. The very air was thick with poison and Death.

At each landing point, the XIV fought. Flame, volkite and bolter purged the streaming hordes of rotten minions. Armed with little more than rusted farm tools, the slaves of Necare attacked the Astartes, eager to die in service of Nurgle. These petty mortals did little more than waste ammunition and buy time for Barbarus's real defenders. Still, the XIV took the time to euthanize every last infected serf. The Emperor's peace would judge them, be they victim or villain.

Slowly and steadily, the XIV Legion spread out from their deployment zones, clearing areas and preparing for the second wave of drop-pods. Soon, larger transports came through the rotten clouds carrying Predators and Rhinos. Unlike some Legions where massive Tank Columns fought aside from the rest of the Legion, the XIV armor fought in the center of the main force, assembled and fully equipped each drop-force took formation. While each Legion can fight any kind of warfare they all prefer some over others. The sons of Moric were built for the bloody grind of infantry engagements and long attrition wars. As such, the most common strategy employed by the XIV worked to turn every battle into their favored type.

The Reaping Ground as they called turned the armor and infantry of the XIV into mobile kill boxes. An entire chapter became a single tool of war. Ground vehicles of this Legion were often over-armored. They were slow and ponderous compared to cousins transports, but as hardy as the Astartes who commanded them. This durability was key to the strategy. Based off the ancient Terran Terkio, the Reaping Ground would place a massive force of 5th Branch (Great Crusade slang for Super-Formation) Boltermen in a hollow square. With 3rd and 6th Branch Brothers inside the square. Then with Four tank squads, one at each corner. This design caught enemies between the hard armor of XIV Tanks, and the bolter discipline of the infantry. Tougher than any of their cousins, the Battle-Brothers of the XIV would march forward, creating a reaping ground culling anything that challenged them.

Unified by blood and purpose, the XIV Legion forces marched. Each Reaping Ground targeted a fortress dotting the stinking peaks of Barbarus. They did not go unchallenged. Patches of ground shifted and broke as Necromancy awoke ancient mass graves. Plague Zombies ranging from shambling figures of bone and muscle to massive Flesh-Golems erupted from the soil. The Plague Maiden's miasma lay heavy upon Necares kingdom. Packs of its Plaguebearers and their heralds materialized. Black, rock-hard buboes covered the skin of Zombies and Plaguebearers alike, displaying evidence of the Maiden's power and influence.

Unperturbed by the threats facing them the XIV marched on with stubborn resolve. Even when the Overlords took to the field, they held. Thousands upon thousands of bolt rounds and volkite discharges pummeled away at the undying horde. It is said that on that day, Vulgraxi the 24th of Necare, one of his Overlord lieutenants declared to a surrounded Reaping ground: "Fools! How can you kill what is already dead?"

In response All twelve of the Chapters Tanks opened fire upon the hulking Daemonhost. Vulgraxi's sorcery protected him from the initial bombardment. It did not stop the next twenty seven from reducing him to a twitching paste. The Chapter Master responded then with: "By reminding it of its predicament."

This and countless other stories of heroism doubt the appendix archives of the Barbarian compliance. Mighty hexes and curses were unleashed upon the XIV, the skill of the Legions librarians and its battle-brothers sheer bloody mindedness fought off the worst the enemy could throw at them. Steadily each of the outer fortresses of Necare were captured. The actual chaotic ruins were blown to smithereens, but the defensive positions became new basecamps for the XIV where reinforcement and much needed ammo were dropped from orbit.

By claiming the outer fortresses, the XIV issued a challenge and established beacheads. Soon the great Armies of Necare would march to reclaim his territory. This suited the Legion perfectly. They would test their endurance and might against the forces of unlife. Once the vast majority of enemy forces had moved to attack the Reaping Grounds, the true assault could begin. Ancient war-songs of Alba and the steady thunder of guns dueled the chants of Daemons. The XIV was in their element. The enemy would be ground to dust and this world would be cleansed.

 **Part Gamma- Personal account of Primarch Moric Thane.**

The galaxy mankind calls home is insane. It is a place of madness, horror and evils beyond count. It is where homo sapiens fights and dies simply to exist. My brothers and I were born for a singular reason, to bring sanity to this galaxy, to make it a place where humanity can not just survive, but thrive. As such, we are being of both creation and destruction, capable of raising civilization from the ashes as well as burning worlds. I do not relish the fact some worlds and peoples must be put to the sword. Life is sacred and must be preserved if it can.

Nothing wounds my soul like when war must be waged on a world that could be spared it. Tyrants, zealots, and worse drive worlds to turn away from the Shining Path. It pains me greatly to order my legion to cut down those led astray and fed into the Reaping Ground by their leaders. Antithetically, when the time comes for true war to be waged, it brings me a grim joy. What I mean by true war, is war against what is evil, when the moral quandaries of mankind can be cast aside. Where the foe is a thing of such horror that one must blast it from existence.

Barbarus was one such case. The Warp's cancer had been almost completely woven into the world. The Daemonhost Necare had turned Barbarus into his fiefdom. Kiddu and I would burn away the rot and breath life back into this necrotic world. My sons, the XIV Legion, had pulled the Daemon armies away from Necare's fortress. The Overlord and his elite servants stood alone within his fetid walls. The Silver Knights, my company, and myself vowed to strike quickly and to strike true, executing the Overlord and banishing the source of his power.

We did not know what to expect when we teleported onto that blighted planet. In truth, I was overconfident. Nothing I had faced within the Segmentum Solar matched what was hidden under the Palace. While my sons dueled the Daemon hordes, our strike force teleported into. The Silver Knights and myself had focused our psychic might to pierce the wards surrounding the fortress. Necare had centuries to devise his defenses, we attempted to merely overpower the intricate psychic fortifications. In retrospect, this was foolish of me. I went against Kiddu's advice, wanting to end the battle as quickly as possible to spare my sons. With our psychic might channeled through the teleportarium, we managed to smash through most of the barriers, but not without a terrible cost. The wards scattered us, and what had been a mighty force of 355 warriors was split into dozens of squads stranded around the dread manor.

The warp miasma that lay thick across Barbarus was at its worst here. The raw stuff of Nurgle seeped into our reality through his daughter. In those panicked minutes after our teleportation, I lost 12 of my company. Not to the Daemons and fiends in the mist, but to the fog itself. So caustic and foul was its nature, that it burnt through ceramite easily. Power armor was rusted to dust within the poison and my poor sons died horrible deaths once it touched their skin. Black buboes erupted across their body, shutting down even the mighty Astartes biology. They thrashed and screamed as the buboes grew and grew, before hatching... The Astartes we found were masses of rotten tissue and rusted metal, covered in teeming hordes of swollen vermin. Mutant rats covered in black fleas spawned from the buboes and preying upon the dead flesh. I know the intricacies of their deaths because the Plague Maiden found it amusing to taunt me with them. In my father's name I swear that rotten banshee will be true-killed by my hand.

Thankfully, most of my Company were close enough to me or the Silver Knights. The psychic protection provided by those blessed by the Emperor could keep out the miasma. Quickly, telepathic links were established and wards were erected against the corruption. Kiddu and myself had been stranded on opposite sides of the labyrinthian castle, our subordinates scattered throughout in packs. Our strategy was to meet up where we could and unify into a single force by the time we reached the Overlord.

While the vast armies of Necare marched across his kingdom, his most powerful and loyal servants remained. By the cosmic malice of Chaos, I had landed just inside the curtain wall, farthest from Necare's keep and directly in the middle of its garrison. A single, bloated Great Unclean One in the shape of a colossal flea and its entourage of plaguebearers greeted me. It spewed the nihilistic drivil of its kind, but all its talk of entropy and inevitably did not stop me. In battle, my favored weapon has always been a polearm. The halberd in particular appeals to me, as it can defend, attack in addition to its ancient roots. At that time I wielded a lovely one, a gift from my brother Odafin Vulkan. The masterfully crafted blade held an axehead on one side and a reaping scythe on the other. Tools of both war and peace. The blessed adamantium made short work of the Daemons. Then, I still lacked the ability to truly kill Daemons. Still, I made them hurt as I cast them back into the abyss.

For the next day and night, we battled through the fortress. We faced pox-sirens made from curdled miasma, rat swarms that formed living rivers of hungry cursed flesh, and Daemonhosts in countless forms, each older and more hideous than the last. The Silver Knights sang songs of purity and life as they killed with sacred flame and silver. My sons were content to do their duty with quiet diligence, hacking through Corpse-Giants and Plaguebearers with the stoic disdain I taught them. We lost some of our number, that was inevitable, for the dangers of Chaos are horrendous. Yet in the end, we cut our way through. The air was a bog of rot that slowed our movements, restricted our senses, and hid our foes. I killed 12 Great Unclean Ones, 539 elder Plaguebearers and countless more Chaotic minions on the march to Necare.

When we finally reached the wrought iron gates of the keep, my impromptu company of rescued and recovered Battle Brothers met with Kiddu's. The Silver Knights are an odd bunch. Where my sons and I were clad in the grim of war, they all shined bright as they had before. My witch-sight told the true story though. They had suffered and were drained. Kiddu alone seemed unaffected. My father had created the Lord-Paladins for these duties and it showed. I did not broach the topic of my earlier mistakes, but I suspect Kiddu, the quiet sage that he is, sensed my shame. He greeted me with calm warmth and remarked "It is good we have all arrived. Being a legion of one is an existence I am loathe to repeat"

The Lord-Paladins are strange beings. They may be weaker than my brothers and I but there is an unsettling wisdom to them. Kiddu in particular has served alongside me many times and while I enjoy his company, something about him has always disturbed me. Its as if he can see through me, to parts of myself hidden. Our shared interest in biology and biomancy had united us and we put it to work healing our warriors in preparation for storming Necare's stronghold. Psychic powers have never been my specialty. The only exception is my skill in biomancy. What purer example of my father's vision is there than using the soul's power to strengthen the body?

Restored in flesh and spirit our Strike Force broke through the gates of Necares keep. The cursed iron and stone fell beneath us. The very material of the building was so infused with the Warp that it groaned and howled at us as we ruined it. We met little resistance as we moved through the dank halls. Only a few poxed servants we quickly euthanized. The door to the throne room was a thing of sickening majesty. A massive slab of rotten wood, carved with murals of death and rot. From the countless cracks dotting its ebony bulk leaked miasma. So dense and rich with power that it appeared practically liquid. An oozing corruption dribbling through the door and dispersing into fog like a chem-bomb of old.

At my signal our warriors braced themselves and Kiddu prepared to strike. His powerfist crackled with lighting and fire. The Lord-Paladin whispered dozens of mantras of purification as he focused himself. The blow reduced the great door to ash and unleashed a wave of psychic fire into the chamber beyond. Anathema-Fire and Nurgle rot dueled. Like guttering candles the psychic flames died as the miasma drowned it. The moment the flames faded the seeping evil poured out of the throne room.

Kine shields and warp-fire crackeled as we entered. Even my senses had difficulty piercing the tainted fog. Auspex readings were unreliable but the chamber was massive. Large enough to hold the mutant court of Necare the Pale King. Shapes and shadows darted through the fog, never close enough to strike but lingering at the peripherals. The throne room was eerily silent. The thud of our boots on the moist stone echoed through the mist. A low groan split through the silence. Growing in volume the rattling howl originating at the chambers end at least a hundred meters away.

As it started the miasma started to recede. Thinning to lesser levels and pulled towards the noise source. It reminded me of an atmosphere leak on a void-ship. Our vision became clearer and the cause of the unearthly vacuum became clear. Perched on a titanic throne of Rotwood was the Pale King of Barbarus. Necare the High Overlord drank in the poison through necrotic lungs and swelled with stolen power. Many Daemonhosts had fallen by my hand, none I think matched Necare in sheer power and foulness.

With a wet noise the Overlord rose from his throne to his full height. The throne rooms size made sudden sense. Standing taller than most Mechanicum Knights, Necare was a thing of death and rot. Unlike many of Nurgles children he was deathly thin. A towering spindly horror that brought to mind images of dessicated plague victims. Tarnished metal plates armored his bulk and a swirling robe of moth-eaten cloth covered hm. Seven horns rose from his head, forming a crown of mutated ivory. The miasma clung to him, soaking his frame with a greasy film. Rotten muscle and pale skin seemed to drink it in empowered by the Plague Maidens touch. To complete Necares image of a primordial death-god a titanic Scythe was grasped in his hands. The blade was horribly stained and nearly as long as I am tall. Its killing edge weeped putrefied filith into puddles across the floor. Nurglings sprung from these dropping, cavorting around their master like feral mutatlings.

Necare finished its great inhale and I heard a faint rattling. Long iron chains covered the Overlords arms, leading up into the rafters. Floating between the damp beams was our true target. The Third Plague Maid of Nurgles Manor. Her body was a skeletally thin facsimile of a human woman's corpse. Stained bandages and iron chains crisscrossed the emaciated form. Black buboes and infected scabs covered her flesh. A grey dress that turned to leaking miasma at its fringes barely clung to the Maiden. My soul recoiled at the sight of her. Untold misery and death had created her. Like all the favored children of Nurgle she was born from a plague that tormented the materium.

The Plague Maiden tittered endlessly. Repeating child-songs and the stories of those claimed by her birth. Now that we could see the chambers entirety it became clear it still hosted numerous overlords and a few Great Unclean Ones. Necare spoke to me then. No matter how many millennia or even millions of years I live I will never forget his voice. It was mine, a rotten phlegm filled version, but mine. "Oh child of Death, you have come to me once again. Grandfather Nurgle has gifted me such wisdom. You will be reaped and your soul will return to the Garden, and with it I will rise through the ranks of favored."

Such madness was common enough for the Great Enemy to spew at my Brothers and I. Only after those dark days on dread Moloch did we understand the meaning. Then I paid no heed and gave the order to attack. My legions chant of hate and the Silver Knights battle cry unified. "The Emperor Protects, so must we! Purge the Unclean!"

Warp power surged into my muscles as I brought my halberd to bear against Necare. The reaping edges of both clashed and spat sparks. Around me Silver Knights and XIV Astartes lept into action. Squads of Argent Space-Marines split off and targeted mighty Daemons. My personal company spat bolt shells and volkite streams at Necare as we dueled. The terminator clad warriors of my Honor guard flanked the Pale King. Known as the Wraithborn they wield Guardian spears as a gift from the Custodes. Those adamantium blades and mastercrafted bolters kept anything from interfering with my duel. Necare was the source of this world's suffering, he would die by my hand.

Kiddu also had his hands full. He was engaged in a duel of sorcery and willpower with the Plague Maiden. I had no ability to observe that conflict except when it connected with mine. Necare was mighty, physically a match for me if slower. Fell warpcraft infused him to the point the materium could barely cope with his movements. Every blow I struck was true but the bastard pulled more energy from the Plague Maiden as needed. Even bound and weak the power of that Daemon was near inexhaustible.

Our duel reached a stalemate. I could not hurt him enough and he could not match my speed. The Lord-Paladin seemed to be faring little better. Kiddu had summoned armies of spirits. This damned world was rife with unquiet dead. Each a broken thing desperate to strike the source of its pain. The Plague Maiden whispered the tales of its victims with glee as it attacked with psychic power and swarms of vermin. The Pale King and his bound Bride proved a dangerous threat.

The grinding tempo of my duel with Necare changed when the Daemonhost exhaled a stream of concentrated miasma. The toxic gas was potent enough to eat through my armor and burn my flesh. I could withstand it and healed faster than it could hurt. My sons could not say the same. Even some of the Silver Knights were suffering. Multiple squads had suffered casualties and one had even been devoured whole by a rat-infested Unclean One minion of the Maiden. It was time to end this battle.

Reaching out to my flagship in orbit I touched my fathers gift. The Seed of Eden, now a magnificent tree that filled part of my living quarters. The Seed had been gifted to the Emperor by a long dead culture. It was a physical manifestation of the Warps power of life. The Warp is the domain of possibility. Creation, destruction, possible, impossible it is all occurring simultaneously within the Sea of Souls. Chaos seeks to corrupt and despoil that possibility into the entropic doom of true dissolution. Humanity must master the Warp before then and the Seed of Eden is a key piece of that. It is a font of life energy. Ancient immaterial energy born of the universes life and growth. Untouched by Nurgle it is a reminder of what the Warp was and can be.

Planted and tended by me the Seed grew into a World Tree that purifies the Warp and breathes life into the universe. Drawing too much power from it could be dangerous for both me and it. Instead I used it to filter my psychic might. In this modern age of Ruinous Powers so many warp arts are impossible. Inviting possession or corruption in the attempt. With the protection and power of the Tree of Eden one of those lost arts is mine once again. Maybe through my efforts it will someday be restored to all. The warp-art of Life Weaving.

The magik winds of life poured into my soul. Healing my wounds and invigorating my flesh. An aura of growth and health poured from me. Empowering my warriors and beating back the miasma. Nurgle is the god of rot and unlife. The Cancer-Lord of the Immaterium. I am the Lord of Cycles I will cut out the cancer and spread creation in its place. Faster and stronger than I had been, I charged past Necares guard. My halberd flashed and cut the Daemonhosts leathery flesh. Where miasma had once bound wounds shut life grew. Fungal growths and moss spread from my blows. The process of decomposition restarted. Again and again my blade cut. Leaving a pattern of verdant green on Necares mottled flesh. The monsters soul flickered with shock, then anger, and finally fear. The Pale King had corrupted life and used it to enslave and torment Barbarus. Now it was his time to be afraid. His time to be infested and broken from the inside out.

I am the Lord of Cycles and I bring death to the deserving and life to the needy. Fresh wood and green vines spread through Necares flesh, slowing him further. I lopped off one of his hands and I saw roots spreading through the stump. Death crept closer to the Overlord as he frantically siphoned power from the Plague Maiden. Even as he did flowering vines climbed the bindings. Drinking in the Maidens miasma, seeking her rotten form. Necare finally fell to his knees. His flesh a verdant garden of rebirth. Only one of his three eyes remained. It stared up at me with bitter hate. Even as grass filled his throat he spat out a final taunt: "I serve the God of life and death. Go on! Prove yourself and banish me back to grandfathers embrace. It won't change anything. The death of this universe was written out long before your thieving father was spawned. All will rot and return to Nurgle!"

Placing my halberds axehead on his neck I responded: "You speak of certainty and stagnant fate. You neverborn are all the same, even after spending centuries in stolen flesh you don't understand. Necare the Pale King is just a story. A parasitic myth only as powerful as the power we give you. Chaos is nothing without us, and without Chaos we are mighty. I reject you evil one. You and all of your kind. Return to your usurper god of life, and tell him something from me. Learn to Fear the Reaper hellspawn. My brothers and I are coming for you."

With that I channeled my full might into a mighty swing. Splitting the Daemonhosts head from his body and banishing him to the Warp on a river of life. The Greater Daemon that mortals called Necare fell into Nurgles garden and was consumed by the power of life. He delivered my message to the Plague God as his body fell apart and spread the seeds of life. Nurgle destroyed him utterly. Ironically quarantining and eliminating life that threatened his realm.

With Necare gone the Plague Maiden was destabilized. Her unflesh burned with sacred flames and the wrath of dead souls tormented her. Seeing the danger my powers possessed she quickly escaped back to Nurgles Manor. Kiddu and I swore blood oaths to each other. We would together hunt her down and free the tormented souls she had claimed. Never again would she unleash her dance of death upon the Materium.

With the Pale King destroyed and the Plague Maiden banished the miasma started to fade. Daemons faded with it and zombies crumbled. My sons would wage a months long campaign across the world. Not resting until every last trace of the Overlords was burned from Barbarus. Only a few villages could be saved. Most of the worlds civilians had to be put down. The rot of Chaos imbedded in their very blood and soul. Channeling the power of life is an exhausting experience. I took a few days after the destruction of Necares Castle to rest. Kiddu joined me, his own body and soul worn out by the Maiden. We discussed many things and I gifted a cutting of the Eden Tree to him. If anyone could help decipher its secrets, it was him.

The survivors of Barbarus were hardy folk. Strong in body and spirit. In a few centuries they would make good aspirants. I marked Barbarus as my fifth recruiting world. Placing it under my personal rule and protection. Like every other world we added to the Imperium my Legion swore an oath over. To eternally guard it from the evils that threaten it. A practice that would eventually earn us the name the XIV Legion now carries proud. The Eternal Guard.

 **Part Delta (CLASSIFIED) - Excerpt from Lord-Paladin Kiddu's report to the Master of Mankind.**

Your fourteenth son exceeds our expectations. He shows all the best features of Mortarion without the wounds inflicted by Necare. The Nathaniel Garro aspects of my soul are impressed and overjoyed with Moric Thane. By destroying Necare the timeline has further been altered. Removing a powerful servant of PA7 at this juncture will have unknown ramifications. Barbarus undergoing purification and acting as a testing ground for prototypical cleansing rituals and technology. The unrecorded Daemon known as the Plague Maiden escaped destruction or confinement. Nature of Daemon suggest connection to the Aeldari Psychic Intelligence known as Isha. Further investigation of Aeldari artifacts and warp science pending.

Restoration of warp-art recorded in Old One texts as "Winds of Life" ongoing. Chaotic corruption hinders use of it and kin arts. If warp space is sufficiently cleansed or a quarantine zone of the Warp (Webway usage?) could be acquired the Old One psychic arts might be more feasible. Current psychic techniques are stunted and weak due to threat of Chaos. Sufficient anathematic power might allow power use. Moric Thane has shown potential to wield pure Life Magik without aid of Tree.

The Tree of Eden is growing strong and samples taken show its "god-called" nature is surprisingly stable. Moric Thane nurturing it suspected for its purity and functionality. Raises the possibility of similar Old One or Aeldari artifacts thought unusable being salvaged. Reaction between Primarch soul-type and Old One technology must be further researched. Possibility of further human "god-calling" raises questions. Could more Winds of Magik be discovered and used? If so could they be bound to human psykers and help advance the Apotheosis aspect of the Shining Path?

Your servant

Lord Paladin Kiddu: Cleanser of Corruption.


	29. Legion I: The Black Knights

**Legion I: The Black Knights**

"We are salvation for our kin, damnation for our foes! The First Legion started this battle and we shall end it. Thy Will be Done on Terra, as Across the Stars!"

Primarch: Eddard Fendragon: The Emperor's Sword.

Symbol: Winged human skull, in front of a downward-facing Longsword.

Colors: Obsidian Black with Gold Trim

Capital World- Ambrosius

Specialty: Experimental Warfare and Super-Formation Usage.

Battlecry: Thy will be done!

 **The 1st Primarch**  
Eddard Fendragon was the first true result of the Primarch project. More than a prototype like Arik Taranis and the Angel. While not specialized like his younger siblings. Eddard was designed as a proof of concept for the Primarch project. An unparalleled warrior, commander, and paragon of humanity. While many of his brothers surpass him in some regards none form the master of warfare that is Eddard.

Above average in height for a Primarch the First stands a bit over three meters and possesses facial features that similar to Gretbritton ethnic groups. With piercing green eyes and golden blond hair, he strikes the picture of the classical Knight-King, just as he was designed too. Eddard is known for his regal air and force of personality. Charismatic and strong-willed his very presence demands respect and loyalty. Eddard views his duty as the Emperor's Sword as a monumental responsibility. Leaving little time or energy for anything than defending mankind from various threats. Leading to many critics viewing him as too serious, hyper-focused and introverted.

Wielding the Titans-Sword and combi-Power Claw he is a figure of marital dominance. Eddard is an avid warrior and finds purpose on the battlefield. He loves nothing more than to spearhead an assault or challenge an enemy commander. That being said, he knows a Primarchs true value. Commanding entire armies and campaigns with superhuman intellect. Only taking to the field when his presence is truly needed. Tempering his battle-hunger with clinical precision.

Of the psychic arts he is one of the lesser Primarchs. Typically only channeling his might through biomancy and Force-Weaponry. While powerful spiritually like all the Primarchs Eddard has little interest in the ritual craft and eldritch science of Psychic power. Eddard has basic (for a Primarch) skill in most of the disciplines and mixes them into his arsenal. They are additional tools and accessories. Not the bedrock of his power.

Like his Legion Eddard Fendragon is a being of united opposites. Simultaneously a gallant Knight-Commander who brings order and Civilization. A brutal Warrior-Predator who stalks the stars looking for his next hunt. The Primarch is aware of this disconnect and seeks to balance these twin natures. To truly be the Emperor's Sword. To defend all that is good and destroy all that is evil. Primarch Eddard Fendragon is the Imperiums Black Knight.

 **History of the Legion**  
The First Legion at first was primarily recruited from the children of loyal Unification War Veterans. Typically those belonging to martial sects or organizations under Imperial control. This was done to simultaneously honor these groups and cripple any long term thoughts of insurrection and disloyalty. The First Primarch trained alongside these early legionaries and led them on numerous suppression operations across Terra, often acting as a test case for the Legio Astartes. The Black Knights helped codify Astartes battle doctrine and gained a reputation for skill, reliability and discretion while testing out experimental tactics and technology.

The legion was awarded many merits during the Battle of Ceres and Lunar Crusade, and the I Legion left the Solar System as one of the most respected forces in the Legiones Astartes. Entrusted with the Emperor's Sword, the First Primarch and his Black Knights quickly entered into a series of brutal campaigns, putting the experimental technology and large numbers of the Legion to good use by destroying multiple Greenskin WAAAGH before they could attract the attention of the Beast-Bosses, purging the Kinebrach Ennui-Spheres, liberating the entire Doulu Sector from Enslaver Swarms and executing half of the Fra'al Council of Satraps. While earning many accolades for their accomplishments in battle, the First Legion also aided in the peaceful to semi-peaceful compliances of hundreds of systems.

The First Legion earned its name during its worst moments and its greatest triumphs: the Rangda Xenocides. Eddard Fendragon led a coalition force of Seven Legions against the parasitic xenos known as the Rangda Empire. During those dark years, the First Legion suffered horrific casualties and took the name of Black Knights in recognition of their heroic service and terrible deeds. Purging the Rangda meant burning innocent worlds and using tactics so unspeakable they forever marred the Legion's honor.

As the Great Crusade reached its climax, the depleted Black Knights were awarded the Ambrosius Sub-Sector as recruitment and command center. With fresh warriors and new Martian technology to use, the I Legion served well as the Crusade ended and the Legions turned to keeping and securing the galaxy they conquered, destroying numerous resurgent WAAAGH, non-compliant Xeno breeds, and an entire Doom-Tide from the Maelstrom, all before the Webway Wars.

 **Astartes Biology**  
Appearance and Apotheosis- The apotheosis (transformation into Astartes) for Black Knights is one of the more clean and stable processes. Eddard's geneseed is stable and reasonably compatible, as suiting the firstborn. Black Knights gain noble features like their Primarch and will often experience minor changes to hair and eye pigment, usually becoming a more intense version of their natural coloration. Black Knights also tend to display different morphology depending on their chosen specialty, with their flesh and bone shifting to accommodate different styles of warfare. For example: battle-brothers outfitted in Terminator armor grow bigger and more hulking, to match their brutal combat style. Intuitive tactical sense, mental compartmentalization and a suspicious nature are common mental features found in all of Eddard's sons.

Unique Organ- The Prince's Tears. The Tears are a biomechanical augment to the Ventricular system and Dohrnii Drive which releases a psycho-reactive compound into the Astartes cerebrospinal fluid. This compound, known as the 'Tears' reacts to certain neural activity, typically relating to reflex, learned behavior and muscle memory. Once triggered, the Tears form into nanodroplets containing records of the observed neural activity that are subsequently stored in the Astartes' bone-marrow, cerebrospinal fluid, and prognoids. When introduced to a new body via prognoids or a fluid transfer the Tears will activate, encoding the stored neural patterns on the new brain before dissolving. This allows base elements of an Astartes' skill and talent to be passed to another.

 **Organization**  
Battlefield Deployments- In battle, the Black Knights deploy themselves almost exclusively under the Super-Formation (A.K.A. Branch) policy, eschewing the Chapter organization outside of Expedition Fleets and Garrisons. Instead, each company acts semi-independently, following the Battle-Commander's orders and focusing only upon their duty. Each company is a perfect regicide piece on the field of war, doing its duty perfectly and synced with its fellows. As such, the Black Knights are deployed in numbered orders of companies. For example, "6 Companies of the 5th Order and 8 companies of the 6th Order" would be deployed instead of a more generalist Chapter formation. Because of this, each Legion Cohort is far more unified than other Legions, forming a singular Astartes Army designed to work together perfectly.

Homeworld: Ambrosius- Like every Legion, the Black Knights rule a sub-sector of Imperial Space as a recruitment pool and base of operations. The Ambrosius Sub-sector in the Segmentum Solar's western region has the honor of hosting the First Legion. Eddard Fendragon holds court from Ambrosius Prime, the sub-sector capital. Surprisingly beautiful for a Death-World, its lush forested surface is dotted with craggy peaks hosting Legion Fortress monasteries. Only one true Imperial city has been carved into the formidable wilderness. Kaer Leon, the Primarchs capital. The nation sized citadel houses an entire civilization of Legion support staff. Ambrosius hosts a truly formidable eco-system of super-predators and cultivated xeno infestations, kept to provide the Black Knights with targets of ritual "quests" of great importance. The dozens of fortress monasteries in the Ambrosian wilds are fought over by the Legions various Cohorts, with practice combat and various challenges used to decide ownership. Owning multiple monasteries is considered a great honor and brings prestige to Cohorts capable of such a feat.

Recruitment- Across the Ambrosius Sector hundreds of Squire Fellowships exist. Military orders designed to find recruits for the Legion and its Auxiliary forces. Each Fellowship originates from a non-Astartes Imperial military official who caught the Primarchs attention. Writs of Tautology are given to these chosen mortals who join or if renowned enough, are allowed to establish a Squire Fellowship to pass on their skills. Each Fellowship will have multiple Squire Maesters (the name the First Legion calls their writ holders) who educate its students in the various arts of war. Every settlement across the Sub Sector hopes to send their finest youth to a Squire Fellowship, where the vast majority of these candidates become part of the Ambrosius Axilla and fights alongside the First Legion. The best of the best are selected to join the Legion. Having a student selected for Astartes apotheosis is one of the highest honors a Fellowship can obtain. Each Squire Fellowship invests great time and energy into forging worthy neophytes, and can earn the patronage of Legion Cohorts if they impress.

Unique Ranks and Roles- Each of the twenty Legions has unique parts of its chain of command. The First is no exception. Due to their eschewing of typical Chapter structure, the Black Knights changed the role of Chapter Master into a unique and more specialised role. Simply known by the rank of 'Master", these Astartes take an oath to devote themselves to a singular aspect of War. Each type of oath forming a unique type of Astartes within the legion. The following four are the most common oaths, but lesser, more specialized ones exist that are unique to a single cohort or particular task.

Blade Oath- Black Knights who show such skill in close quarter combat and dueling that they devote themselves to it. Acting as martial champions of a Cohort, they surrender the roles of strategist and leader and become the Legion's living blade.

Crown Oath- The Black Knight's Lord Commanders require talented aids and strategic advisors. That is the duty of the Crown Oath, who act as advisors and agents of a Commanding Officer. They help formulate strategy at the headquarters and ensure the implementation of it on the battlefield.

Castle Oath- Acting the closest to traditional Chapter Masters, the Castle Oath are given semi-independent command of a host of Companies for specialized duties such as garrison duty, for which the title comes from chief among them. Masters of the Castle Oath are trusted to act wisely and effectively even when far removed from the usual legion chain of command.

Hearth Oath- Not one particular oath but the general one taken by members of the Legion's support Astartes who hold positions of power and command within those bodies. Chief Librarians, Head Apothecaries and Elder Chaplains are all examples of this.

 **Legion Culture**  
Personality-. The culture and genetics of the Black Knights instill a number of seemingly contradictory traits in its Astartes. Vicious pragmatism, as well as an obsession with honor. The Black Knights were born to be the Emperor's Sword, and they seek to fulfill that ideal of becoming living weapons to its greatest possibility. They are men of cold steel who hold tradition and duty high. Black Knights are proud, even for Astartes. Each Legionnaire strives to prove his worth on and off the battlefield, with personal honor and reputation motivating the Astartes. That reputation and honor is built upon grim effectiveness upon the fields of war. When given a task, a Black Knight will complete it, no matter how ugly or difficult it may be. Fiercely loyal and highly competitive, rivalries of honor within the Legion and with their Astartes cousins are common. The Black Knights are likened to well crafted sword: a murderous killing edge cloaked in tradition, skill, and pedigree.

Customs- The competitive and prideful nature of the Black Knights leads to a culture of challenges and quests, self-assigned or Legion appointed for Astartes to prove themselves. Nearly all the Black Knights rituals are related to proving honor and capability. Entire companies will work together to earn trophies and victory tallies enhancing there pedigree. Little distinction is made between personal and company wide accolades. They all share in victory or failure. Promotion within the Legion requires the prospective officer to complete a quest or feat of some noteworthiness. Entire companies will work to complete these challenges, and truly become a band of brothers hoping to earn one of them a rightful honor. Each company works as a fully unified order of Black Knights, completely and dogmatically loyal to each other. While fiercely competitive with any peer force, the Black Knights in every aspect are a dichotomy. Honorable and loyal, while simultaneously ruthless and suspicious.

Unique Features- The Oath of Brotherhood: Oaths of all kinds make a central foundation of the Black Knights. Oaths to master a type of war, oaths to complete a task or die trying, and even oaths of vengeance and life-debt. Of all these oaths, the most integral and primal is the Oath of Brotherhood. On times of importance like the acceptance of a new squad or promotion of a member, accompany will take the Oath of Brotherhood. Each member of the company has a sample of cerebrospinal fluid extracted and refined, producing the Prince's Tears. These Tears are then mixed together and further refined into an elixir of shared memory which is reintroduced to the entire company. Memories, martial skill and bonds are shared between the Astartes, enhancing the company's cohesion to supernatural levels and granting new experience to the Battle-Brothers.

 **Battle Strategy and Equipment**  
Tactical Doctrine- Each Black Knight company refines itself into a specialist force beyond compare, taking one of the Super Formation doctrines and molding themselves too it utterly. This strips the Astartes of generalist roles and features in exchange for utter mastery of a type of war. Companies are forced to rely on each other in ways other Legions would consider unorthodox. Experimental and dangerous resources are allocated to the Black Knights more than any other Legion. The First is trusted with these wonders of warfare for a number of reasons. Sharing memories and high cohesion allows for quicker and more effective adoption of new strategies and tools than any other Legion. Each company is heavily reliant on its siblings, preventing rogue forces from becoming corrupted by dangerous weapons to function, and allowing quick quarantine and elimination should the worst come to pass. Additionally, the specialist nature of each company allows for results applicable to all subsequent legions. These tactics and responsibilities require the Legion's officers to be of the highest caliber. It is said the First Legion lacks a true specialization, being an adept of many but master of none. This is simply not true. The Black Knights are a force of countless Masters of One who work in perfect synchronicity.

Weapons and Armor- The most brutal tools available to the Legiones Astartes were tested with the Black Knights. Hence, the Legion holds a truly massive supply of rare weapons and armor compared to others. Distortion, gravity, and plasma weaponry are a common sight, used to utterly destroy foes of every kind. While not as destructive as the world-killing and city leveling arsenals of some Legions, the Black Knights have arguably the most lethal armory of them all. The saying among Imperial commanders is "If you want to kill something, pick any Legion. If you want to make sure it stays dead, get the Black Knights." Mech-Suits like Terminator Armor, Dreadknights, and other similar pieces of weaponry are also quite common, leading to an abnormally large 2nd Formation. The elite companies of the legion are often the first to be equipped with the newest and deadliest aspects of the Imperial arsenal, giving them a terrifying reputation for eldritch and nightmarish methods of warfare.

Fleet and Transport- The Gloriana Class Ty-Prydwn is the Black Knight Flagship and one of the first of its class in Imperial history. Its elderly nature and the duties of the Black Knights has led the vessel to spend inordinate amount of time at Mechanicum drydocks. Not repairing the wounds of war, but being upgraded with new and esoteric systems. The Primarch's ship is one of the most deadly vessels in the galaxy, fitted with weapons that are rarely seen outside Ark Mechancus vessels. The rest of the First Legion fleet is an odd assortment, with each new prototype and experimental ship class developed, the Black Knights gain another collection of new vessels. This leaves them with a large but, disjointed fleet of vessels from various generations of Imperial industry. Instead of retiring these older vessels, the Black Knights simply have the Mechanicum upgrade the increasingly obsolete ship with whatever new tools they are charged with testing, resulting in archaic ships centuries out of date being more formidable than most modern ships of its weight class.

 **Trivia**

The Black Knights have a friendly rivalry with the Wild Hunt (XI Legion) Both share similar roles as direct tool of the Emperor and cultural ideas of honor and group-loyalty.

Within the Ty-Prydwen is a hall of honors where every active company is marked by a golden plaque holding its designation and finest accomplishment.

Companies utterly destroyed have a sheet of black silk is draped over their plaque, a solemn reminder of the Legion's dark days. A single strand of different colored fabric marks each draping, distinguishing the foe responsible for the lost.

New companies sometimes recycle destroyed designations after a particular victory against the enemy who destroyed the original. The Astartes are avenged and their memory lives on again with new Battle-Brothers.

Slaying a Quest-Beast of Ambrosius is a key factor of the Black Knight training process.

A number of retired Astartes oversee the acquisition and management of these Quest-Beasts, putting the skills of war to work preparing the next generation.

The Titansword, when used as a mobile distort weapon, can utterly destroy almost anything it cuts. It is only limited by its size and Eddard Fendragon's psychic power.

Telepathy is favored among the Legion's librarians, allowing instantaneous communication between companies across the battlefield.

A thread of Imperial gold marks destroyed companies euthanized due to Chaos or Rangda infection.


End file.
